The footsteps at last! She trembled, went hot and cold, had a parched throat. Mallard entered, and she did not offer him her hand; perhaps he might reject it. In consequence there was an absurdly formal bow on both sides.
"Please sit down, Mr. Mallard."
She saw that he was looking at the "St. Cecilia," but with what countenance her eyes could not determine. To her astonishment, he spoke of the picture, and in an unembarrassed tone.
"An odd thing that this should be in your room."
"Yes. We spoke of it the first time Cecily came."
Her accents were not firm. At once he fixed his gaze on her, and did not remove it until her temples throbbed and she cast down her eyes in helpless abashment.
"I have had a long letter from your brother, Mrs. Baske. It seems he posted it just before they left for Capri. I can only reply to it in one way, and it gives me so much pain to do so that I am driven to ask your help. He writes begging me to take another view of this matter, and permit them to be married before very long. The letter is powerfully written; few men could plead their cause with such eloquence and force. But it cannot alter my determination. I must reply briefly and brutally. What I wish to ask you is, whether with sincerity you can urge my arguments upon your brother, and give me this assistance in the most obvious duty?"
"I have no influence with him, Mr. Mallard."
Again he looked at her persistently, and said with deliberation:
"I think you must have some. And this is one of the cases in which a number of voices may possibly prevail, though one or two are ineffectual. But—if you will forgive me my direct words—your voice is, of course, useless if you cannot speak in earnest."