has grappled with
whole libraries of solid historians. She knows the Italian poets. Really, no
common case of a woman educating herself at that age.«
    »Would you mind telling me what her age is?«
    »Twenty-seven, last February. To-day she has been mute; generally, when we
are in interesting places, she rather likes to show her knowledge - of course we
encourage her to do so. A blessed form of vanity, compared with certain things
one remembers!«
    »She looks as if she had by no means conquered peace of mind,« observed
Mallard, after another silence.
    »I don't suppose she has. I don't even know whether she's on the way to it.«
    »How about the chapel at Bartles?«
    Spence shook his head and laughed, and the dialogue came to an end.
    The next morning all started for Rome.
 

                                  Chapter VII

                             Learning and Teaching

Easter was just gone by. The Spences had timed their arrival in Rome so as to be
able to spend a few days with certain friends, undisturbed by bell-clanging and
the rush of trippers, before at length returning to England. Their hotel was in
the Babuino. Mallard, who was uncertain about his movements during the next
month or two, went to quarters with which he was familiar in the Via Bocca di
Leone. He brought his Pæstum picture to the hotel, but declined to leave it
there. Mallard was deficient in those properties of the showman which are so
necessary to an artist if he would make his work widely known and sell it for
substantial sums; he hated anything like private exhibition, and dreaded an
offer to purchase from any one who had come in contact with him by way of
friendly introduction.
    »I'm not satisfied with it, now I come to look at it again. It's nothing but
a rough sketch.«
    »But Seaborne will be here this afternoon,« urged Spence. »He will be
grateful if you let him see it.«
    »If he cares to come to my room, he shall.«
    Miriam made no remark on the picture, but kept looking at it as long as it
was uncovered. The temples stood in the light of early morning, a wonderful,
indescribable light, perfectly true and rendered with great skill.
    »Is it likely to be soon sold?« she asked, when the artist had gone off with
his canvas.
    »As likely as not, he'll keep it by him for a year or two, till he hates