 which possessed her when she entered was
subsiding; the unutterable mournfulness of this little room made everything
external to it seem of small account. She knew not whether it was better to
speak or remain mute, and when silence had lasted for a few minutes, she could
not trust her voice to break it. But at length the motionless girl addressed
her.
    »Have you enjoyed yourself in Italy?«
    »Not much. I have not been very well,« Cecily answered, leaning forward.
    »Did you go to Naples?«
    »Only as far as Rome.«
    »How can any one be in Italy, and not go to Naples?« said Madeline, in a low
tone of wonder.
    Silence came again. Cecily listened to the sound of breathing. Madeline
coughed, and seemed to make a fruitless effort to speak; then she commanded her
voice.
    »I took a dislike to you at Naples,« she said, with the simple directness of
one who no longer understands why every thought should not be expressed. »It
began when you showed that you didn't care for Mr. Marsh's drawings. It is
strange to think of that now. You know I was engaged to Mr. Marsh?«
    »Yes.«
    »He used to write me letters; I mean, since this. But it is a long time
since the last came. No doubt he is married now. It would have been better if he
had told me, and not just ceased to write. I want Zillah to write to him for me;
but she doesn't like to.«
    »Why do you think he is married?« Cecily asked.
    »Isn't it natural? I'm not so foolish as to wish to prevent him. It's
nothing to me now. I should even be glad to hear of it. He ought to marry some
good-natured, ordinary kind of girl, who has money. Of course you were right
about his drawings; he was no artist, really. But I had a liking for him.«
    Cecily wondered whether it would be wise or unwise to tell what she knew.
The balance seemed in favour of holding her peace. In a few minutes, Madeline
moaned a little.
    »You are in pain?«
    »That's nothing; pain, pain - I find it hard to understand that life is
anything but pain. I can't live much longer, that's the one comfort. Death
doesn't mean pain, but the end of it.
