"She has expressed no wish to see me?"
"None. I had better report to her simply that you have no objection to Mr. Elgar's visits."
"That is all I would say at present. I shall see Elgar tonight. He is still at Casa Rolandi, I take it?"
"That was the address on his letter."
"Then, good-night. By-the-bye, I had better give you my address." He wrote it on a leaf in his pocket-book. "I will see you again in a day or two, when things have begun to clear up."
"It's too bad that you should have this trouble, Mr. Mallard."
"I don't pretend to like it, but there's no help."
And he left Mrs. Lessingham to make her comment on his candour.
Yes, Signor Elgar was in his chamber; he had entered but a quarter of an hour since. The signor seemed not quite well, unhappily—said Olimpia, the domestic, in her chopped Neapolitan. Mallard vouchsafed no reply. He knocked sharply at the big solid door. There was a cry of "Avanti!" and he entered.
Elgar advanced a few steps. He did not affect to smile, but looked directly at his visitor, who—as if all the pain of the interview were on him rather than the other—cast down his eyes.