When the reply from Mrs. Travis instructed him in what had been done, Reuben left the house, and did not return till late at night. Cecily stayed at home, idle. Visitors called in the afternoon, but she received no one. After her solitary dinner, she spent weary hours, now in one room, now in another, unable to occupy herself in any way. At eleven o'clock she went down to the library, resolving to wait there for Reuben's return. She heard him enter, and heard the servant speaking with him. He came into the room, closed the door, sauntered forwards, his hands in his pockets. "Why didn't you tell me you would be away all day?" Cecily asked, without stress of remonstrance. "I didn't know that I should be." He took his favourite position on the corner of the table Examining him, Cecily saw that his face expressed ennui rather than active displeasure; there was a little sullenness about his lips, but the knitting of his brows was not of the kind that threatens tempest. "Where have you been, dear?" "At the Museum, the club, and a music-hall." "A music-hall?" she repeated, in surprise. "Why not? I had to get through the time somehow. I was in a surly temper; if I'd come home sooner, I should have raged at you. Don't say anything to irritate me, Ciss; I'm not quite sure of myself yet." "But I think the raging would have been preferable; I've had the dreariest day I ever spent." "I suppose some one or other called?" "Yes, but I didn't see them. You have made me very uncertain of howl ought to behave. I thought it better to keep to myself till we had come to a clearer understanding." "That is perversity, you know. And it was perversity that led you to write in such a way to Mrs. Travis." "You are quite right. But the provocation was great. And after all I don't see that there is much difference between writing to her that she mustn't come, and giving directions to a servant that she isn't to be admitted." "You said in the letter that _I_ had forbidden it?" "Yes, I did." "And so made me ridiculous!" he exclaimed petulantly. "My dear, you _were_ ridiculous. It's better that you should see it plainly." "The letter will be shown to all sorts of people. Your aunt will see it, of course. You are ingenious in revenging yourself." Cecily bent her head, and could not trust herself to speak. All day she had been thinking of this, and had repented of her foolish haste. Yet confession of error was impossible in her present mood. "As you make such a parade of obedience," he continued, with increasing anger, "I should think it would be better to obey honestly. I never said that I wished you to break with her in this fashion." "Anything else would be contemptible. I can't subdue myself to that." "Very well; then to be logical you must give up society altogether. It demands no end of contemptible things." "Will you explain to me why you think that letter will make you ridiculous?" Reuben hesitated.