There was a gruffness in the invitation which under ordinary circumstances would have repelled a visitor. But Cecily was so glad to hear the familiar voice that its tone mattered nothing; she followed him, and seated herself where he bade her. There was much tobacco-smoke in the air; Mallard opened a window. She watched him with timid, anxious eyes. Then, without looking at her, he sat down near an easel on which was his painting of the temples of Paestum. This canvas held Cecily's gaze for a moment. "When did you get home?" Mallard asked abruptly. "Yesterday morning." "Mrs. Lessingham went on, I suppose?" "Yes. I have been alone ever since, except that a visitor called." "Alone?" She met his eyes, and asked falteringly: "You know why? You have heard about it?" "Do you mean what happened the other day?" he returned, in a voice that sounded careless, unsympathetic. "Yes." "I know that, of course. Where is your husband?" "I have neither seen him nor heard from him. I shouldn't have understood why he kept away but for the visitor that came--a lady; she showed me a newspaper." Mallard knit his brows, and now scowled at her askance, now looked away. His visage was profoundly troubled. There was silence for some moments. Cecily's eyes wandered unconsciously over the paintings and other objects about her. "You have come to ask me if I know where he is?" She failed in her attempt to reply. "I am sorry that I can't tell you. I know nothing of him. But perhaps Mrs. Baske does. You know their address?" "I didn't come for that," she answered, with decision, her features working painfully. "It is not my part to seek for him." "Then how can I help you?" Mallard asked, still gruffly, but with more evidence of the feeling that his tone disguised. "You can't help me, Mr. Mallard. How could any one help me? I was utterly alone, and I wanted to hear a friend's voice." "That is only natural. It is impossible for you to remain alone. You don't feel able to go to Mrs. Baske?" She shook her head. "But your aunt will come? You have written to her?" "No. I had rather she didn't come. It seems strange to you that I should bring my troubles here, when it can only pain you to see me, and to have to speak. But I am not seeking comfort or support--not of the kind you naturally think I need."