Through Madeline’s mind there passed a suspicion, but a restaurant-dinner hit her taste, and she accepted the invitation readily.  Before long, they drove into the town.  Perhaps in recognition of her having taken his part against idle reproaches, her father began, as soon as they were alone, to talk in a grave, earnest way about his affairs; and Madeline, who liked above all things to be respectfully treated, entered into the subject with dutiful consideration.  He showed her exactly how his misfortunes had accumulated, how this and that project had been a failure, what unadvised steps he had taken in fear of impending calamity Snugly seated at the little marble table, they grew very confidential indeed.  Mr. Denyer avowed his hope—­the hope ever-retreating, though sometimes it had seemed within reach—­of being able some day to find rest for the sole of his foot, to settle down with his family and enjoy a quiet close of life.  Possibly this undertaking at Vera Cruz would be his last exile; he explained it in detail, and dwelt on its promising aspects.  Madeline felt compassionate and remorseful.

Of her own intimate concerns no word was said, but it happened strangely enough, just as they had finished dinner, that Clifford Marsh came strolling into the restaurant.  He saw them, and with expressions of surprise explained that he had just turned in for a cup of coffee.  Mr. Denyer invited him to sit down with them, and they had coffee together.  Clifford kept up a flow of characteristic talk, never directly addressing Madeline, nor encountering her look.  He referred casually to his meeting with Mr. Denyer that afternoon.

“I shall be going back myself very shortly.  It is probable that there will be something of a change in my circumstances; I may decide to give up a few hours each day to commercial pursuits.  It all depends on—­on uncertain things.”

“You won’t come out with me to Vera Cruz?” said Mr. Denyer, jocosely.

“No; I am a man of the old world.  I must live in the atmosphere of art, or I don’t care to live at all.”

Madeline’s slight suspicion was confirmed.  When they were about to leave the restaurant, Mr. Denyer said that he must go to the railway-station, to make a few inquiries.  There was no use in Madeline’s going such a distance; would Clifford be so good as to see her safely home?  Madeline made a few objections—­she would really prefer to accompany her father; she would not trouble Mr. Marsh—­but in the end she found herself seated by Clifford in a carriage, passing rapidly through the streets.

Now was Clifford’s opportunity; he had prepared for it.

“Madeline—­you must let me call you by that name again, even if it is for the last time—­I have heard what has happened.”

“Happily it does not affect you, Mr. Marsh.”