and sat down in a quiet corner. In the distance a few
respectable persons were slowly eating bath-buns with an air of fashion,
their duly marked catalogues laid beside them on marble.

Far-off waiters, standing with their knees bent, conversed in
undertones. A sort of subterranean depression, peculiar to this
fastness of Burlington House, brooded over the china and the provisions.

"It reminds me of the British Museum tearoom," said Lady Sophia. "Here is
tea! What a mercy! Modern pictures sap one's little strength."

She looked haggard, and was obviously on the edge of her nerves.

"Marcus might have come in," she added. "But of course he wouldn't--or
couldn't."

"Doesn't he care for pictures?"

She slightly shrugged her shoulders.

"He used to. But I don't know that he does now."

"I suppose he has a tremendous amount to do."

"He used to do much more at Liverpool. If a man wishes to come to the
front he mustn't sit in an armchair with folded hands."

There was a sharp sound of criticism in her voice which astonished
Malling. At the luncheon, only about a fortnight ago, she had shown
herself plainly as the adoring wife, anxious for her husband's success,
nervously hostile to any one who interfered with it, who stood between
him and the homage of his world. Now Malling noted, or thought he noted,
a change in her mental attitude. He was instantly on the alert.

"I'm sure that's the last thing Mr. Harding would do," he said.

She shot a glance at him out of her discontented dark eyes.

"Are you?" she said.

And sarcasm crept in the words. She gave to Malling at this moment the
impression of a woman so strung up as to be not her natural self, so
tormented by some feeling, perhaps long repressed, that her temperament
was almost furiously seeking an outlet, knowing instinctively, perhaps,
that only there lay its salvation.

"His record proves it," said Malling, with serenely smiling assurance.

Lady Sophia twisted her lips. The Academy tea was very strong. Perhaps
it had been standing. She drank a little, pulled at her long gloves
restlessly, and looked at Malling. He knew she was longing to confide
in somebody. If only he could induce her to confide in him!

"Oh, my husband's been a very active man," she said. "Everybody knows
that. But in this modern world of ours one must not walk, or even
run along, one must keep on rushing along if one intends to reach the
goal."

"And by that you mean--?"

"Mean