condition that she would take up her abode with this household had Mrs.
Frothingham consented to make her an allowance and let her go abroad.
Alma fretted at the restriction; she wished to have a room of her own
in a lodging-house; but the family life improved her command of
German--something gained. To music, meanwhile, she gave very little
attention, putting off with one excuse after another the beginning of
her serious studies. She seemed to have quite forgotten that music was
her 'religion', and, for the matter of that, appeared to have no
religion at all. 'Life' was her interest, her study. She made
acquaintances, attended concerts and the theatre, read multitudes of
French and German novels. But her habits were economical. All the
pleasures she desired could be enjoyed at very small expense, and she
found her stepmother's remittances more than sufficient.

In April she gained Mrs. Frothingham's consent to her removal from
Leipzig to Munich. A German girl with whom she had made friends was
going to Munich to study art. For reasons, vague even to herself (so
ran her letters to Mrs. Frothingham), she could not 'settle' at
Leipzig. The climate did not seem to suit her. She had suffered from
bad colds, and, in short, was doing no good. At Munich lived an
admirable violinist, a friend of Herr Wilenski's, who would be of great
use to her. 'In short, dear Mamma, doesn't it seem to you rather
humiliating that at the age of four-and-twenty I should be begging for
permission to go here and there, do this or that? I know all your
anxieties about me, and I am very grateful, and I feel ashamed to be
living at your expense, but really I must go about making a career for
myself in my own way.' Mrs. Frothingham yielded, and Alma took lodgings
in Munich together with her German friend.

English newspapers were now reporting the trial of the directors of the
Britannia Company, for to this pass had things come. The revelations of
the law-court satisfied public curiosity, and excited indignant
clamour. Alma read, and tried to view the proceedings as one for whom
they had no personal concern; but her sky darkened, her heart grew
heavy. The name of Bennet Frothingham stood for criminal recklessness,
for huge rascality; it would be so for years to come. She had no
courage to take up her violin; the sound of music grew hateful to her,
as if mocking at her ruined ambition.

Three months had passed since she received her one and only le