foolish. People haven't the strength of
mind. I dare say,' she added, with a bright look, 'anyone who _was_
strong enough to do that kind of thing would be admired and envied.'

'By whom?' Rolfe asked.

'Oh, by their acquaintances who were still slaves.'

'I don't know. Admiration and envy are not commonly excited by merely
reasonable behaviour.'

'But this would be something more than merely reasonable. It would be
the beginning of a revolution.'

'My dear,' remarked Mrs. Frothingham, smiling sadly, 'people would
never believe that it didn't mean loss of money.'

'They might be made to believe it. It would depend entirely on the
persons, of course.'

Alma seemed to weary of the speculation, and to throw it aside. Harvey
noticed a shadow on her face again, which this time did not pass
quickly.

He was so comfortable in his chair, the ladies seemed so entirely at
leisure, such a noiseless calm brooded about them, unbroken by any new
arrival, that two hours went by insensibly, and with lingering
reluctance the visitor found it time to take his leave. On reviewing
the afternoon, Harvey concluded that it was probably as void of meaning
as of event. Alma, on friendly terms once more with her step-mother,
felt for the moment amiably disposed towards everyone, himself
included; this idle good humour and insignificant talk was meant, no
doubt, for an apology, all he had to expect. It implied, of course,
thorough indifference towards him as an individual. As a member of
their shrunken circle, he was worth retaining. Having convinced herself
of his innocence of undue pretensions, Alma would, as the children say,
be friends again, and everything should go smoothly.

He lived through a week of the wretchedest indecision, and at the end
of it, when Wednesday afternoon came round, was again climbing the many
stairs to the Frothinghams' flat; even more nervous than last time,
much more ashamed of himself, and utterly doubtful as to his reception.
The maid admitted him without remark, and showed him into an empty
room. When he had waited for five minutes, staring at objects he did
not see, Alma entered.

'Mamma went out to lunch,' she said, languidly shaking hands with him,
'and hasn't come back yet.'

No greeting could have conveyed less encouragement. She seated herself
with a lifeless movement, looked at him, and smiled as if discharging a
duty.

'I thought'--he blundered into speech--'that Wednesday was probably
yo