ed
Dymes's flat for an afternoon, and there, supported by the
distinguished composer, received a strange medley of people who
interested themselves in her daughter's venture. Alma laughed at the
arrangement, and asked Dymes if he expected her congratulations.

'Don't make fun of them,' said Felix. 'Of course, they're not _your_
sort, Alma. But I've known them all my life, and old Wellington did me
more than one good turn when I was a youngster. Ada won't make much of
it, but she'll squeeze in among the provincial pros after this send
off.'

'You really are capable of generosity?' asked Alma.

'I swear there's nothing between us. There's only one woman living that
I have eyes for--and I'm afraid she doesn't care a rap about me; at all
events, she treats me rather badly.'

This dialogue took place in a drawing-room the evening before Miss
Wellington's day. Alma had declined to meet her agent a second time at
the Apollo Theatre; they saw each other, by arrangement, at this and
that house of common friends, and corresponded freely by post, Dymes's
letters always being couched in irreproachable phrase. Whenever the
thing was possible, he undisguisedly made love, and Alma bore with it
for the sake of his services. He had obtained promises from four
musicians of repute to take part in Alma's concert, and declared that
the terms they asked were lower than usual, owing to their regard for
him. The expenses of the recital, without allowing for advertisements,
would amount to seventy or eighty pounds; and Dymes guaranteed that the
hall should produce at least that. Alma, ashamed to appear uneasy about
such paltry sums, always talked as though outlay mattered nothing.

'Don't stint on advertisements,' she said.

'No fear! Leave that to me,' answered Felix, with a smile of infinite
meaning.

Ada Wellington could not afford to risk much money, and Alma thought
her announcements in the papers worth nothing at all. However, the
pianist was fairly successful; a tolerable audience was scraped
together (at Steinway Hall), and press notices of a complimentary
flavour, though brief, appeared in several quarters. With keen anxiety
Alma followed every detail. She said to herself that if _her_
appearance in public made no more noise than this, she would be ready
to die of mortification. There remained a fortnight before the ordeal;
had they not better begin to advertise at once? Thus she wrote to
Dymes, who replied by sending her thre