aviour. In no case, as you of course
understand, could she be so indelicate as anything of this kind would
imply. No; but you are vexed with Madeline about some silly little
difference, and you play with her feelings. There has been enough of
it; I must interfere. And now let us talk a little about your position.
Madeline has, of course, told me everything. Listen to me, my dear
Clifford; you must at once accept Mr. Hibbert's kindly meant
proposal--you must indeed."

Marsh had reflected anxiously during this speech. He let a moment of
silence pass; then said gravely:

"I cannot consent to do anything of the kind, Mrs. Denyer."

"Oh yes, you can and will, Clifford. Silly boy, don't you see that in
this way you secure yourself the future just suited to your talents? As
an artist you will never make your way; that is certain. As a man with
a substantial business at your back, you can indulge your artistic
tastes quite sufficiently, and will make yourself the centre of an
admiring circle. We cannot all be stars of the first magnitude. Be
content to shine in a provincial sphere, at all events for a time.
Madeline as your wife will help you substantially. You will have good
society, and better the richer you become. You are made to be a rich
man and to enjoy life. Now let us settle this affair with your
step-father."

Still Clifford reflected, and again with the result that he appeared to
have no thought of being persuaded to such concessions. The debate went
on for a long time, ultimately with no little vigour on both sides. Its
only immediate result was that Marsh left the house for a few days,
retiring to meditate at Pompeii.

In the mean time there was no apparent diminution in Madeline's
friendliness towards Cecily Doran. It was not to be supposed that
Madeline thought tenderly of the other's beauty, or with warm
admiration of her endowments; but she would not let Clifford Marsh
imagine that it mattered to her in the least if he at once transferred
his devotion to Miss Doran. Her tone in conversing with Cecily became a
little more patronizing,--though she spoke no more of
impressionism,--in proportion as she discovered the younger girl's
openness of mind and her lack of self-assertiveness.

"You play the piano, I think?" she said one day.

"For my own amusement only."

"And you draw?"

"With the same reserve."

"Ah," said Madeline, "I have long since given up these things. Don't
you think it is a pity to ma