"I haven't heard from her since the letter in which she told me she had got to Rome. She said you would be coming soon, but that was all. I don't understand this economy of postage!" He grew more annoyed as he spoke. Meeting Miriam's eye, he added, in the tone of explanation: "It's abominable that you should come here all the way from Chelsea, and be turned away at the door! What did the servant tell you?" "Only that your comings and goings were very uncertain," she replied, looking about the room. "Yes, so they are. I go now and then to a friend's in Surrey and stop overnight. One can't live alone for an indefinite time. But sit down. Unless you'd like to have a look at the house, first of all?" "I'll sit a little first." "This is my study, when I'm working at home," Reuben continued, walking about and handling objects, a book, or a pen, or a paper-knife. "Comfortable, don't you think? I want to have another bookcase over there. I haven't worked here much since Cecily has been away; I have a great deal of reading to do at the Museum, you know.--You look a vast deal better, Miriam. What are you going to do?" "I don't know. Most likely I shall continue to live with the Spences." "You wouldn't care to come here?" "Thank you; I think the other arrangement will be better." "Perhaps so. For one thing, it's quite uncertain whether we shall keep this house. It's really a good deal too large for us; an unnecessary expense. If Cecily is often to be away like this, there's no possibility of keeping the place in order. How the servants live, or what they do, I have no idea. How can I be expected to look after such things?" "But surely it is not expected of you? I understood that Cecily had left a housekeeper." "Oh yes; but I have a suspicion that she does little but eat and drink. I know the house is upside down. It's long enough since I had a decent meal here. Practically I have taken to eating at restaurants. Of course I say nothing about it to Cecily; what's the use of bothering her? By-the-bye, how is she? How did you leave her?" "Not very well, I'm afraid." "She never says a word about her health. But then, practically, she never writes. I doubt whether London suits her. We shall have to make our head-quarters in Paris, I fancy; she was always well enough there. Of course I can't abandon London entirely; at all events, not till I've--till my materials for the book are all ready; but it's simple enough for me to come and take lodgings for a month now and then." Miriam gave an absent "Yes." "You don't seem to have altered much, after all," he resumed, looking at her with a smile. "You talk to me just like you used to. I expected to find you more cheerful." Miriam showed a forced smile, but answered nothing. "Well, did you see much of Mallard?" he asked, throwing himself into a seat impatiently, and beginning to rap his knee with the paper-knife. "Not very much." "Has he come back with you?"