When the artist entered, Miriam was waiting for him by the light of the fire; blinds shut out the miserable gloaming, but no lamp had yet been brought into the room. Mallard came in blowing the fog and rain off his moustache; he kicked off his boots, kicked on his slippers, and then bent down over the chair to the face raised in expectancy. "A damnable day, Miriam, in the strict and sober sense of the word." "Far too sober," she replied. "Eleanor came through it, however." "Wonderful woman! Did she come to see if you bore it with the philosophy she approves?" "She had a more serious purpose, I'm sorry to say, Cecily is in London, He has left her--written her a good-bye." Mallard leaned upon the mantelpiece, and watched his wife's face, illumined by the firelight. A healthier and more beautiful face than it had ever been; not quite the second of those two faces that Mallard drew, but with scarcely a record of the other. They talked in subdued voices. Miriam repeated all that Eleanor had been able to tell. "You must go and see her, of course," Mallard said. "Yes; I will go to-morrow." "Shall you ask her to come here?" "I don't think she will wish to," answered Miriam. "That brother of yours!" he growled. "Isn't it too late even to feel angry with him, dear? We know what all this means. It is absolutely impossible for them to live together, and Reuben's behaviour is nothing but an assertion of that. Sooner or later, it would be just as impossible, even if he preserved the decencies." "Perhaps true; perhaps not. Would it be possible for him to live for long with _any_ woman?" Miriam sighed. "Well, well; go and talk to the poor girl, and see if you can do anything. I wish she were an artist, of whatever kind; then it wouldn't matter much. A woman who sings, or plays, or writes, or paints, can live a free life. But a woman who is nothing but a woman, what the deuce is to become of her in this position? What would become of _you_, if I found you in my way, and bade you go about your business?" "We are not far from the Thames," she answered, looking at him with the fire-glow in her loving eyes. "Oh, you!" he muttered, with show of contempt. "But other women have more spirit. They get over their foolish love, and then find that life in earnest is just beginning." "I shall never get over it." "Pooh!--How long to dinner, Miriam?" Miriam went to see her sister-in-law, and repeated the visit at intervals during the next few months; but Cecily would not come to Roehampton. Neither would she accept the invitations of the Spences, though Eleanor was with her frequently, and became her nearest friend. She seemed quite content with the society of Irene and Mrs. Delph; her health visibly improved, and as spring drew near there was a brightening in her face that told of thoughts in sympathy with the new-born hope of earth.