t it put in order. I hope to be there
again before long. You didn't doubt I should come?'

'You left it uncertain.'

'To be sure. Life is uncertain. But I should have been desperately
disappointed if I hadn't found you here. There are so many things to be
said about going in for music as a profession. You have the talent, you
have the physical strength, I think.' His eye flattered her from head
to foot. 'But, to be a great artist, one must have more than technical
qualifications. It's the soul that must be developed.'

Alma laughed.

'I know it. And what is your receipt for developing the soul?'

Redgrave paused in his walk. Smiling, he gave a twist to his moustache,
and appeared to meditate profoundly.

'The soul--well, it has a priggish sound. Let us say the character; and
that is developed through experience of life.'

'I'm getting it.'

'Are you? In the company of Miss Steinfeld? I'm afraid that won't carry
you very far. Experience means emotion; certainly, for a woman. Believe
me, you haven't begun to live yet. You may practise on your violin day
and night, and it won't profit you--until you have _lived_.'

Alma was growing serious. These phrases harmonised well enough with her
own insubstantial thoughts and idly-gathered notions. When preparing to
escape from England, she had used much the same language. But, after
all, what did it mean? What, in particular, did Cyrus Redgrave mean,
with his expressive eyes, and languid, earnest tone?

'You will say that a girl has few opportunities. True, thanks to her
enslavement by society.'

'I care nothing for society,' Alma interposed.

'Good! I like the sound of that defiance; it has the right ring. A man
hasn't often the pleasure of hearing that from a woman he can respect.
It's easy, of course, to defy the laws of a world one doesn't belong
to; but you, who are a queen in your circle, and may throne, at any
moment, in a wider sphere--it means much when you refuse to bow down
before the vulgar idols, to be fettered by superstitions.'

His aim was dark to her, but she tasted the compliment which ignored
her social eclipse. Redgrave's conversation generally kept on the
prosaic levels--studiously polite, or suavely cynical. It was a new
experience to see him borne on a wave of rhetoric; yet not borne away,
for he spoke with an ease, a self-command, which to older ears would
have suggested skill rather than feeling. He had nothing of the ardour
of youth; his po