out of bicycles, I think?'

'I have heard so,' answered her hostess indifferently. 'Will you play
me something? The piano has been tuned; I should like to know if you
think it all right.'

'I have quite given up playing the piano.'

'Indeed? And the violin too?'

'No, no; the violin is my instrument. Whose is that little
water-colour, Sibyl? I tried for just that effect of sun through mist
not long ago.'

'Oh yes, to be sure, you have gone in for water-colours; you told me in
a letter. I must see some of your things. Of course, I shall
becoming----'

The door opened, and a small page, very smartly equipped, to Alma; she
had not as yet seen this functionary; but Mrs. announced Mrs. Herbert
Strangeways. The page was a surprise Strangeways drew her attention. A
lady of perhaps thirty-five, with keen, thin face, and an artificial
bloom on her hollow cheeks; rather overdressed, yet not to the point of
vulgarity; of figure very well proportioned, slim and lissom. Her voice
was a trifle hard, but pleasant; her manner cordial in excess.

'So here you are, _chez vous_. Charming! Charming! The prettiest room I
have seen for a long time. Mrs. Rolfe? Oh, Mrs. Rolfe, the name put me
out for a moment; but I remember you perfectly, perfectly. It was at
the Wigrams'; you played the violin wonderfully!'

Alma did not much care to be reminded of this. Mr. Wigram, one of her
father's co-directors, was lying at this moment in durance vile, and
his wife lived somewhere or other on charity. But Mrs. Strangeways
uttered the name without misgiving, and behaved as though nothing
conceivable could have afforded her more delight than to meet Alma
again. It was her habit to speak in superlatives, and to wear a
countenance of corresponding ecstasy. Any casual remark from either of
the ladies she received with a sort of rapture; her nerves seemed to be
in a perpetual thrill. If she referred to herself, it was always with
depreciation, and not at all the kind of depreciation which invites
compliment, but a tremulous self-belittlement, such as might be natural
in a person who had done something to be ashamed of, and held her place
in society only on sufferance.

'You still play, of course?' she said to Mrs. Rolfe presently. 'I so
hope I may have the pleasure of hearing you again. I wonder whether I
could persuade you to come next Wednesday? We have a little house in
Porchester Terrace. Of course, I don't mean to ask you to play; I
shouldn'