Part 30 (1/2)

”Miss Doran,” he continued, ”will not marry Elgar with my consent until she be one-and-twenty. Then, of course, she may do as she likes.”

”You will see Mr. Elgar, and make this clear to him?”

”Very clear indeed,” was the grim reply. ”As for any thing else, why, what can we do? If they insist upon it, I suppose they must see each other--of course, under reason able restrictions. You cannot make yourself a duenna of melodrama, Mrs. Lessingham.”

”Scarcely. But I think our stay at Naples may reasonably be shortened--unless, of course, Mr. Elgar leaves.”

”You take it for granted, I see, that Miss Doran will be guided by our judgment,” said Mallard, after musing on the last remark.

”I have no fear of that,” replied Mrs. Lessingham with confidence, ”if it is made to appear only a question of postponement. This will be a trifle compared with my task of yesterday morning. You can scarcely imagine how astonished she was at the first hint of opposition.”

”I can imagine it very well,” said the other, in his throat. ”What else could be expected after--” He checked himself on the point of saying something that would have revealed his opinion of Mrs. Lessingham's ”system”--his opinion accentuated by unreasoning bitterness. ”From all we know of her,” were the words he subst.i.tuted.

”She is more like her father than I had supposed,” said Mrs.

Lessingham, meditatively.

Mallard stood up.

”You will let her know that I have been here?”

”Certainly.”

”She has expressed no wish to see me?”

”None. I had better report to her simply that you have no objection to Mr. Elgar's visits.”

”That is all I would say at present. I shall see Elgar tonight. He is still at Casa Rolandi, I take it?”

”That was the address on his letter.”

”Then, good-night. By-the-bye, I had better give you my address.” He wrote it on a leaf in his pocket-book. ”I will see you again in a day or two, when things have begun to clear up.”

”It's too bad that you should have this trouble, Mr. Mallard.”

”I don't pretend to like it, but there's no help.”

And he left Mrs. Lessingham to make her comment on his candour.

Yes, Signor Elgar was in his chamber; he had entered but a quarter of an hour since. The signor seemed not quite well, unhappily--said Olimpia, the domestic, in her chopped Neapolitan. Mallard vouchsafed no reply. He knocked sharply at the big solid door. There was a cry of ”Avanti!” and he entered.

Elgar advanced a few steps. He did not affect to smile, but looked directly at his visitor, who--as if all the pain of the interview were on him rather than the other--cast down his eyes.

”I was expecting you,” said Reuben, without offering his hand.

”So was I you--three days ago.”

”Sit down, and let us talk. I'm ashamed of myself, Mallard. I ought at all events to have written.”

”One would have thought so.”

”Have you seen Mrs. Lessingham?”