Him Mrs. Spence at once presented to her cousin as "Mr. Mallard." He bowed ungracefully; then, with a manner naturally frank but constrained by obvious shyness, took the hand Miriam held to him.
"We are scarcely strangers, Mr. Mallard," she said in a self-possessed tone, regarding him with steady eyes.
"Miss Doran has spoken of you frequently on the journey," he replied, knitting his brows into a scowl as he smiled and returned her look. "Your illness made her very anxious. You are much better, I hope?"
"Much, thank you."
Allowance made for the difference of quality in their voices, Mrs. Baske and Mallard resembled each other in speech. They had the same grave note, the same decision.
"They must be very tired after their journey," Miriam added, seating herself.
"Miss Doran seems scarcely so at all; but Mrs. Lessingham is rather over-wearied, I'm afraid."
"Why didn't you break the journey at Florence or Rome?" asked Mrs. Spence.
"I proposed it, but other counsels prevailed. All through Italy Miss Doran was distracted between desire to get to Naples and misery at not being able to see the towns we passed. At last she buried herself in the 'Revue des Deux Mondes,' and refused even to look out of the window."
"I suppose we may go and see her in the morning?" said Miriam.