mstances, that he offered her marriage, instead of
throwing out a proposal such as that of Cyrus Redgrave at Bregenz?

Though but darkly, confusedly, intermittently conscious of the feeling,
Alma was at heart dissatisfied with the liberty, the independence,
which her husband seemed so willing to allow her. This, again, helped
to confirm the impression that Harvey held her in small esteem. He did
not think it worth while to oppose her; she might go her frivolous way,
and he would watch with careless amusement. At moments, it was true, he
appeared on the point of ill-humour; once or twice she had thought
(perhaps had hoped) that he could lay down the law in masculine
fashion; but no--he laughed, and it was over. When, at the time of her
misery in Wales--her dim jealousy of Mrs. Abbott, and revolt against
the prospect of a second motherhood--she had subdued herself before
him, spoken and behaved like an everyday dutiful wife, Harvey would
have none of it. He wished--was that the reason?--to be left alone, not
to be worried with her dependence upon him. That no doubt of her
fidelity ever seemed to enter his mind, was capable of anything but a
complimentary interpretation; he simply took it for granted that she
would be faithful--in other words, that she had not spirit or
originality enough to defy conventional laws. To himself, perhaps, he
reserved a much larger liberty. How could she tell where, in what
company, his evenings were spent? More than once he had been away from
home all night--missed the last train, he said. Well, it was nothing to
her; but his incuriousness as to her own movements began to affect her
sensibly, now that she imagined so close a community of thoughts and
interests between Harvey and Mary Abbott.

Before his return tonight other letters had arrived for him, and all
lay together, as usual, upon his desk. Alma, trying to wear her
customary face, waited for him to mention that he had heard from
Gunnersbury, but Harvey said nothing. He talked, instead, of a letter
from Basil Morton, who wanted him to go to Greystone in the spring,
with wife and child.

'You mustn't count on me,' said Alma.

'But after your concert--recital--whatever you call it; it would be a
good rest.'

'Oh, I shall be busier than ever. Mr. Dymes hopes to arrange for me at
several of the large towns.'

Harvey smiled, and Alma observed him with irritation she could scarcely
repress. Of course, his smile meant a civil scepticis