orm of
self-reproach!

When a week went by without anything more from Alma, Harvey ceased to
trouble. As the fates directed, so be it. He began to pack the books
which he would take with him into Wales.

One day he found himself at Kensington High Street, waiting for a City
train. In idleness, he watched the people who alighted from carriages
on the opposite side of the platform, and among them he saw Alma. On
her way towards the stairs she was obliged to pass him; he kept his
position, and only looked into her face when she came quite near. She
bent her head with a half-smile, stopped, and spoke in a low voice,
without sign of embarrassment.

'I was quite wrong. I found it out soon after I had written, and I have
wanted to beg your pardon.'

'It is my part to do that,' Harvey replied. 'I ought not to have
answered as I did.'

'Perhaps not--all things considered. I'm rather in a hurry.
Good-morning!'

As a second thought, she offered her hand. Harvey watched her trip up
the stairs.

Next morning he had a letter from her. 'Dear Mr. Rolfe,' she wrote,
'did you let Mamma know of my hasty and foolish behaviour? If not--and
I very much hope you didn't--please not to reply to this, but let us
see you on Wednesday afternoon, just in the ordinary way. If Mamma
_has_ been told, still don't trouble to write, and in that case I dare
say you will not care to come. If you are engaged this Wednesday,
perhaps you could come next.' And she signed herself his sincerely.

He did not reply, and Wednesday saw him climbing once more to the
little flat; ashamed of being here, yet unable to see how he could have
avoided it, except by leaving London. For that escape he had no longer
much mind. Quite consciously, and with uneasiness which was now taking
a new form, he had yielded to Alma's fascination. However contemptible
and unaccountable, this was the state of things with him, and, as he
waited for the door to be opened, it made him feel more awkward, more
foolish, than for many a long year.

Mrs. Frothingham and her step-daughter were sitting alone, the elder
lady occupied with fancy-work, at her feet a basket of many-coloured
silks, and the younger holding a book; nothing could have been quieter
or more home-like. No sooner had he entered than he overcame all
restraint, all misgiving; there was nothing here today but peace and
good feeling, gentle voices and quiet amiability. Whatever shadow had
arisen between the two ladies m