e,' he added, with frank friendliness. 'I go on with
my sister to Salzburg, and then turn off on my own account; I might be
able to pass your way, and I should so much like to have a talk with
you--a real talk, about music and all sorts of things. Did I ever tell
you of my little place at Riva, head of Lake Garda? Cosy little nook,
but I'm not there very often; I half thought of going for a week or
two's quietness. Quite cool there by the lake. But I really must try to
see you at Bregenz--do let me.'

He begged it as a favour, a privilege, and Alma without hesitation told
him where she would be living.

'For a few weeks? Oh, then, I shall make a point of coming that way.
You're not working too hard, I hope? I know you don't do things by
halves. When I first heard you were going in seriously for music, I
said to myself, "_Tant mieux_, another great violinist!"'

The listener reddened with delight; her step became elastic; she
carried her head gallantly, and feared not the glances Redgrave cast at
her.

'I have learnt not to talk about myself,' she said, bestowing a smile
upon him. 'That's the first bad habit to be overcome by the amateur
converted.'

'Capital! An axiom worth putting into print, for the benefit of all and
sundry. Now I must say goodbye; that fellow yonder will take me back to
the domesticities.' He hailed an empty carriage. 'We shall meet again
among the mountains. _Auf Wiedersehen_!'

Alma continued to walk along the Nymphenburg road, unconscious of
external things. The tram for which she had been waiting passed by; she
no longer cared to go out into the country. It was enough to keep
moving in the bright sunshine, and to think her thoughts.

No; people had by no means forgotten her. Whilst she was allowing
herself to fall into gloom and indolence, her acquaintances, it was
evident, made her a constant subject of talk, of speculation; just what
she had desired, but had lost courage to believe. They expected great
things of her; her personal popularity and her talents had prevailed
against the most prejudicial circumstance; people did not think of her
as the daughter of Bennet Frothingham,--unless to contrast the
hopefulness of her future with the black calamity that lay behind.

She waxed philosophical. How everything in this world tends to good! At
her father's death she had mourned bitterly; it had struck her to the
heart; his imprudence (she could never use, even in thought, a harsher
word)