o the platform, and for a quarter of
an hour she had to listen, in torment of mind and body, to
remonstrances, flatteries, amorous blandishments, accompanied by the
hiss of steam and the roar of trains.

On reaching home she could do nothing but lie down in the dark. Her
head ached intolerably; and hour after hour, as often happens when the
brain is over-wearied, a strain of music hummed incessantly on her ear,
till inability to dismiss it made her cry in half-frenzied wretchedness.

With sleep she recovered; but through the next day, dull and idle, her
thoughts kept such a gloomy colour that she well-nigh brought herself
to the resolve with which she had threatened Felix Dymes. But for the
anticipation of Harvey's triumph, she might perhaps have done so.

CHAPTER 11

For several days she had not touched the violin. There was no time for
it. Correspondence, engagements, intrigues, whirled her through the
waking hours and agitated her repose. The newspaper paragraphs resulted
in a shower of letters, inquiring, congratulating, offering good
wishes, and all had to be courteously answered, lest the writers should
take offence. Invitations to luncheon, to dinner, to midnight 'at
homes', came thick and fast. If all this resulted from a few
preliminary 'puffs' what, Alma asked herself, would be the consequence
of an actual success? How did the really popular musicians contrive to
get an hour a day for the serious study of their art? Her severe
headache had left behind it some nervous disorder, not to be shaken off
by any effort--a new distress, peculiarly irritating to one who had
always enjoyed good health. When she wrote, her hand was unsteady, and
sometimes her eyes dazzled. This would be alarming if it went on much
longer; the day approached, the great day, the day of fate, and what
hope was there for a violinist who could not steady her hand?

The 'interviewer' called, and chatted for half an hour, and took his
leave with a flourish of compliments. The musicians engaged to play
with her at Prince's Hall's came down to try over pieces, a trio, a
duet; so that at last she was obliged to take up her instrument--with
results that did not reassure her. She explained that she was not
feeling quite herself; it was nothing; it would pass in a day or two.
Sibyl Carnaby had asked her and Harvey to dine next week, to meet
several people; Mrs. Rayner Mann had arranged a dinner for another
evening; and now Mrs. Strangeway