"Will be by now; we had horrible day of rain at Amalfi. He seems rather glummer than usual, but that won't hinder his work. I wish I had the old fellow's energy. After all, though, one can force one's self to use pencils and brushes; it's a different thing when all has to come from the brain. If you haven't a quiet mind—"
"What disturbs you?" Miriam asked, watching him.
"Oh, there's always something. I wish you could give me a share of your equanimity. Never mind, I shall try. By-the-bye, I ought to have a word with Mrs. Lessingham and Cecily before I go. Are they likely to be here tomorrow?"
"I can't say."
"Then I shall call at their place. When will they be at home?"
"Do you think you ought to do that?" Miriam asked, without looking at him.
"Why on earth not?"
His brow darkened, and he seemed about to utter something not unlike his vehemencies on the day of arrival.
"You must judge for yourself, of course," said Miriam. "We won't talk about it."
Reuben nodded agreement carelessly. Then he began to talk of his proposed work, and presently they went to join the Spences. For an hour or more, Reuben held forth rapturously on what he had seen these last few days. He could not rest seated, but paced up and down the room, gesticulating, fervidly eloquent.