Mallard pondered anxiously.
"Then," said he, "what leads you to believe that I have seen Mrs. Elgar?"
"I don't merely believe; I know that you have."
Elgar felt himself oppressed by the artist's stern and authoritative manner. He could not support his dignity; his limbs embarrassed him, and he was conscious of looking like a man on his trial for ignoble offences.
"How do you know?" came from Mallard, sharply.
"I have been told by some one who saw her come here yesterday, in the late afternoon."
"I see. No doubt, Mrs. Baske?"
The certainty of this flashed upon Mallard. He had never seen Miriam walk by, but on the instant he comprehended her doing so. It was even possible, he thought, that, if she had not herself seen Cecily, some one in her employment had made the espial for her. The whole train of divination was perfect in his mind before Elgar spoke.
"It is nothing to the purpose who told me. My wife was here for a long time, and when she went away, you accompanied her."
"I understand."