"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.