rave?--I've known him for several years now, and, between
ourselves, I never expected to benefit by the acquaintance.'

Her laugh was so significant that Alma had much ado to keep a steady
face.

'I know--things are said about him,' she murmured.

'Things _are_ said about him, as you discreetly put it, my dear Alma.'
The voice still rippled with laughter. 'I should imagine Hugh has heard
them, but I suppose a man of the world thinks nothing of such trifles.
And after all'--she grew serious--'I would rather trust Hugh's judgment
than general gossip. Hugh thinks him a "very good fellow". They were
together a little in Scotland last autumn, you know, and--it's very
wrong to make fun of it, and I shouldn't repeat the story to anyone but
you--Mr. Redgrave confided to him that he was a blighted being, the
victim of an unhappy love in early life. Can you quite picture it?'

'It has an odd sound,' replied Alma, struggling with rather tense
nerves. 'Do you believe the story?'

'I can't see why in the world such a man should invent it. It seems he
wanted to marry someone who preferred someone else; and since then he
has----'

Sibyl rippled off again.

'He has--what?'

'Been blighted, my dear! Of course, people have different ways of
showing blight. Mr. Redgrave, it is rumoured, hides his head in a
hermitage, somewhere in the north of Italy, by one of the lakes. No
doubt he lives on olives and macaroni, and broods over what _might_
have been. Did you ever hear of that hermitage?'

Alma's colour heightened ever so little, and she kept her eyes on the
questioner with involuntary fixedness. The last shadow of doubt
regarding Sibyl having disappeared (no woman with an uneasy conscience,
she said to herself, could talk in this way), she had now to guard
herself against the betrayal of suspicious sensibilities. Sibyl, of
course, meant nothing personal by these jesting allusions--how could
she? But it was with a hard voice that Alma declared her ignorance of
Mr. Redgrave's habits, at home, or in retreat by Italian lakes.

'It doesn't concern us,' agreed her friend. 'He has chosen to put his
money into Hugh's business, and, from one point of view, that's a
virtuous action. Hugh says he didn't suggest anything of the kind, but
I fancy the idea must have been led up to at some time or other. The
poor fellow has been horridly worried, and perhaps he let fall a word
or two he doesn't care to confess. However it came about, I'm imm