h Felix Dymes, her mind was full of the money
question. What did Dymes mean by bidding her take no thought for
expenses? Could it have occurred to his outrageous vanity that she
might be persuaded to become his debtor, with implied obligation of
gratitude?

Not with impunity could her thought accustom itself to stray in regions
forbidden, how firm soever her resolve to hold bodily aloof. Alma's
imagination was beginning to show the inevitable taint. With Cyrus
Redgrave she had passed from disdainful resentment, through phases of
tolerance, to an interested flirtation, perilous on every side. In
Felix Dymes she easily, perhaps not unwillingly, detected a motive like
to Redgrave's, and already, for her own purposes, she was permitting
him to regard her as a woman not too sensitive, not too scrupulous.
These tactics might not be pleasant or strictly honourable, but she
fancied they were forced upon her. Alma had begun to compassionate
herself--a dangerous situation. Her battle had to be fought alone; she
was going forth to conquer the world by her mere talents, and can a
woman disregard the auxiliary weapons of beauty? If Dymes chose to
speculate in hopes ludicrously phantasmal, was that her affair? She
smiled at the picture of two men, her devoted servants, exerting
themselves to the utmost for her advantage, yet without a syllable of
express encouragement, and foredoomed to a disappointment which would
be perfectly plain to them could they but use their common-sense.

Throughout this week Harvey did not behave quite as usual to her; or so
Alma thought. He had not the customary jocoseness when they met at the
close of day; he asked no questions about how she had spent her time;
his manner was preoccupied. One evening she challenged him.

'You are worrying about what you think my foolishness.'

'Foolishness? Of what folly are you guilty?'

'My ambition, then.'

'Oh no!' He laughed as if the thought genuinely amused him. 'Why should
I worry about it? Don't work too hard, that's all. No, I was thinking
of a squalid little ambition of my own. I have an idea Morphew may make
something of that business; and I want him to, for the fellow's own
good. It's wonderful how near he has been to going to the devil, once
for all. I fancy I've got him now by the coat-tail; I may hold him.'

'You can't call that a squalid ambition,' said Alma, wishing to be
amiable.

'Not that side of it--no. But I've decided to put a little money