Having made an appointment with Dora for next Saturday, Alma took
leave, and went home in excellent spirits. Everything seemed to plan
itself; the time had come, the moment of destiny. Doubtless she had
been wise in waiting thus long. Had she come forward only a year or so
after her father's tragedy, people might have said she was making
profit of a vulgar sensation; it would have seemed in bad taste;
necessity would have appeared to urge her. Now, such remarks were
impossible. Mrs. Harvey Rolfe sounded much better than Miss Alma
Frothingham. By-the-bye, was it to be 'Mrs.', or ought she to call
herself 'Madame'? People did use the Madame, even with an English name.
Madame Rolfe? Madame Harvey Rolfe? That made her laugh; it had a touch
of the ridiculous; it suggested millinery rather than music. Better to
reject such silly affectations and use her proper name boldly.

It was to be expected, of course, that people in general would soon
discover her maiden name. Whispers would go round; facts might even get
into the newspapers. Well? She herself had done nothing to be ashamed
of, and if curiosity helped her to success, why, so much the better. In
all likelihood it _would_ help her; but she did not dwell upon this
adventitious encouragement. A more legitimate source of hope revealed
itself in Mrs. Strangeways' allusion to her personal advantages. She
was not ill-looking; on that point there needed no flatterer's
assurance. Her looks, if anything, had improved, and possibly she owed
something to her experiment in 'simplicity', to the air of mountain and
of sea. Felix Dymes, Cyrus Redgrave, not to speak of certain other
people--no matter. For all that, she must pay grave attention to the
subject of dress. Her recital would doubtless be given in the
afternoon, according to custom; so that it was not a case of _grande
tenue_; but her attire must be nothing short of perfection in its kind.
Could she speak about it with Sibyl? Perhaps--yet perhaps not. She was
very anxious to see Sibyl, and felt that a great deal depended upon
their coming interview.

This took place on Tuesday; for Sibyl replied at once to the note, and
begged her to come without delay. 'Tuesday at twelve. I do little in
these gloomy days but read--am becoming quite a bookworm. Why have you
been silent so long? I was on the very point of writing to you, for I
wish to see you particularly.'

And, when the servant opened her door, Sibyl was discovered in the