is talk of such subjects, I never lose an
opportunity of mentioning Mr. Mallard's name, and telling all I can about his
work. Some day I shall, perhaps, be able to help him. I will insist on every
friend of mine who buys pictures at all possessing at least one of Mr.
Mallard's; then, perhaps, he will condescend to talk with me of serious things.«
    She added the last sentence merrily, meeting Miriam's look with the frankest
eyes.
    »Does Mrs. Lessingham hold the same opinion?« Miriam inquired.
    »Oh yes! Aunt, of course, knows far more about art than I do, and she thinks
very highly indeed of Mr. Mallard. Not long ago she met M. Lambert at a friend's
house in Paris - the French critic who has just been writing about English
landscape - and he mentioned Mr. Mallard with great respect. That was splendid,
wasn't it?«
    She spoke with joyous spiritedness. However modern, Cecily, it was clear,
had caught nothing of the disease of pococurantism. Into whatever pleased her or
enlisted her sympathies, she threw all the glad energies of her being. The
scornful remark on the Royal Academy was, one could see, not so much a mere echo
of advanced opinion, as a piece of championship in a friend's cause. The respect
with which she mentioned the name of the French critic, her exultation in his
dictum, were notes of a youthful idealism which interpreted the world nobly, and
took its stand on generous beliefs.
    »Mr. Mallard will help you to see Naples, no doubt,« said Miriam.
    »Indeed, I wish he would. But he distinctly told us that he has no time. He
is going to Amalfi in a few days, to work. I begged him at least to go to
Pompeii with us, but he frowned - as he so often does - and seemed unwilling to
be persuaded; so I said no more. There again, I feel sure he was afraid of being
annoyed by trifling talk in such places. But one mustn't judge an artist like
other men. To be sure, anything I could say or think would be trivial compared
with what is in his mind.«
    »But isn't it rather discourteous?« Miriam observed impartially.
    »Oh, I could never think of it in that way! An artist is privileged; he must
defend his time and his sensibilities. The common terms of society have no
application to him. Don'