Mallard asked nothing better. He walked on with a curious smile, was admitted, and waited a minute or two in the drawing-room. Miriam entered, and shook hands with him, coldly courteous, distantly dignified.
"I am sorry Mrs. Spence is not at home."
"I came to see you, Mrs. Baske. I have just met them, and heard that you have news from Paris."
"Only a note, sending a temporary address."
He observed her as she spoke, and let silence follow. "You would like to know it—the address?" she added, meeting his look with a rather defiant steadiness.
"No, thank you. It will be enough if I know where they finally settle. You saw Mrs. Elgar before she left?"
"No."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Miriam's face was clouded. She sat very stiffly, and averted her eyes as if to ignore his remark. Mallard, who had been holding his hat and stick in conventional manner, threw them both aside, and leaned his elbow on the back of the settee.
"I should like," he said deliberately, "to ask you a question which sounds impertinent, but which I think you will understand is not really so. Will you tell me how you regard Mrs. Elgar? I mean, is it your wish to be still as friendly with her as you once were? Or do you, for whatever reason, hold aloof from her?"