erable discomfort. Oh, degeneracy
of stomach and of brain! Of will, too; for he was sure to repeat the
foolish experience before a week had passed.

It was not till Mrs. Frothingham had left them after a fortnight's
visit that he reminded Alma of her promise to go with him to
Gunnersbury.

'Did I promise?' she said. 'I thought we agreed that you should settle
all that yourself.'

'I had rather you came with me to see Mrs. Abbott. Shall it be
Saturday?'

'Can't,' replied Alma, with a shake of the head and a smile. 'I have to
see Mr. Dymes.'

'Dymes? Who is he?'

'My agent.'

'Oh! very well; then I'll go alone.'

He would not permit himself any further inquiry. Alma had never spoken
to him of Dymes, her 'agent'. Harvey pictured an ill-shaven man in a
small office, and turned from the thought with disgust. Too late to
interpose, to ask questions; anything of that kind would but make him
seem small, ridiculous, fussy. He had chosen his course, and must
pursue it.

Not that Alma behaved in such a way as to suggest estrangement;
anything but so. Her manner was always amiable, frequently
affectionate. When they spent an evening together--it did not often
happen--she talked delightfully; avoiding, as did Harvey himself, the
subjects on which they were not likely to agree. Her gaze had all the
old directness, her smile was sweet as ever, and her laugh as
melodious. If ever he felt uneasy during her long absences in town, one
of these evenings sufficed to reassure him. Alma was Alma still, and
could he but have reconciled himself to the thought of her playing in
public, she would have been yet the wife he chose, frankly self-willed,
gallantly independent.

Until a certain day at the end of March, when something happened of
which Harvey had no suspicion, but which affected Alma in a way he soon
perceived.

That morning he had left home early, and would not return till late.
Alma practised as usual, had luncheon alone, and was thinking of going
out, when the post delivered two letters--one for herself from Dymes,
the other for her husband. A glance showed her that Harvey's
correspondent was Mrs. Abbott, and never till today had one of Mrs
Abbott's letters come into her hand. She regarded it with curiosity,
and the longer she looked the stronger her curiosity became. Harvey
would of course tell her what his friend wrote about--as he always did;
but the epistle itself she would not be asked to read. And did she, as