s me by that formal name--a
show and a pretence, and just a little extravagant.'

Her cheeks grew warm again

'That reminds me,' she said; 'I didn't know you had a second name--till
I got that letter.'

'I had almost forgotten it myself, till I answered a certain other
letter. I didn't know till then that _you_ had a second name. Your
"Florence" called out my "Radcliffe"--which sounds fiery, doesn't it? I
always felt that the name over-weighted me. I got it from my mother.'

'And your first--Harvey?'

'My first I got from a fine old doctor, about whom I'll tell you some
day--Alma.'

'I named your name. I didn't address you by it.'

'But you will?'

'Let us talk seriously.--Could you live far away from London, in some
place that people know nothing about?'

'With you, indeed I could, and be glad enough if I never saw London
again.'

An exaltation possessed Alma; her eyes grew very bright, gazing as if
at a mental picture, and her hands trembled as she continued to speak.'

'I don't mean that we are to go and be hermits in a wilderness. Our
friends must visit us--our real friends, no one else; just the people
we really care about, and those won't be many. If I give up a public
career--as of course I shall--there's no need to give up music. I can
go on with it in a better spirit, for pure love of it, without any wish
for making money and reputation. You don't think this a mere dream?'

Harvey thought more than he was disposed to say. He marvelled at her
sudden enthusiasm for an ideal he had not imagined her capable of
pursuing. If he only now saw into the girl's true character, revealed
by the awakening of her emotions, how nobly was his ardour justified!
All but despising himself for loving her, he had instinctively chosen
the one woman whose heart and mind could inspire him to a life above
his own. 'I should think it a dream,' he answered, 'if I didn't hear it
from your lips.'

'But it is so easy! We keep all the best things, and throw off only the
worthless--the things that waste time and hurt the mind. No crowded
rooms, no wearying artificial talk, no worry with a swarm of servants,
no dressing and fussing. The whole day to one's self, for work and
pleasure. A small house--just large enough for order and quietness, and
to keep a room for the friend who comes. How many people would like
such a life, but haven't the courage to live it!'

'Where shall it be, Alma?'

'I have given no promise. I only say