med that her friend could not find much time for correspondence.
'I am living in the atmosphere of art, and striving patiently. Some day
you shall hear of me.' And when the letter was posted, Alma mused long
on the effect it would produce.

With the distinguished violinist; the friend of Herr Wilenski, spoken
of to Mrs. Frothingham, she had as yet held no communication, and
through the days of early summer she continued to neglect her music.
Indolence grew upon her; sometimes she spent the whole day in a
dressing-gown, seated or reclining, with a book in her hand, or totally
unoccupied. Sometimes the military bands in the public gardens tempted
her to walk a little, or she strolled with Miss Steinfeld through the
picture galleries; occasionally they made short excursions into the
country. The art student had acquaintances in Munich, but did not see
much of them, and they were not the kind of people with whom Alma cared
to associate.

In July it was decided that they should go for a few weeks to Bregenz;
their health called for the change, which, as Miss Steinfeld knew of a
homely _pension_, could be had at small expense. Before their departure
the art student was away for a few days, and, to relieve the dreariness
of an existence which was becoming burdensome, Alma went out alone one
afternoon, purposing a trip by steam-tram to the gardens at
Nymphenburg. She walked to the Stiglmeyerplatz, where the tram starts,
and there stood waiting. A carriage drove past, with a sound of English
voices, which drew her attention. She saw three children, a lady, and a
gentleman. The last-mentioned looked at her, and she recognised Cyrus
Redgrave. Whether he knew her face seemed uncertain. Hoping to escape
unobserved, she turned quickly, and walked a few yards. Before she
faced round again, a quick footstep approached her, and the next moment
Mr. Redgrave stood, hat in hand, courteously claiming her acquaintance.

'I thought I could not possibly be mistaken!'

The carriage, having stopped for him to alight, was driving away.

'That is my sister and her children,' said Redgrave, when he had warmly
shaken hands and expressed his pleasure at the meeting. 'You never met
her. Her husband is in India, and you see me in full domesticity. This
morning I posted a note to you; of course, you haven't received it yet.'

Alma did her best to behave with dignity. In any case it would have
been trying to encounter such a man as Redgrave--wealthy