uld not say when she might
return; she had been absent since yesterday morning. Unable to restrain
herself, Alma inquired whether Mr. Carnaby was in town. He was not; he
had been away for several days.

On the morrow a letter from Sibyl came to Pinner. She was grieved to
hear that Alma had called during her absence. Was it anything of
importance, or would it keep till she and Harvey came to dine on
Saturday? 'I have been down to Weymouth--not to enjoy myself, but to
see my mother. She _says_ she is very ill, and thinks it monstrous that
I don't feel inclined to devote myself to the care of her. Her illness,
I am sure, is nothing but discontent and bad temper, just because she
feels herself dropping out of society. She must get used to it. In any
case, we could never endure each other; and how can I be expected to
make any sacrifice for a mother who never gave me an hour of motherly
care from the day of my birth? But you know all about this, and don't
want to hear of it again just when you are so busy. If there is
anything in the world I can do for you, let me know at once.'

But for her conversation with Mrs. Strangeways, it would not have
occurred to Alma to doubt the truth of what Sibyl wrote; as it was, she
tortured herself with dark surmises. Jealousy without love, a passion
scarcely intelligible to the ordinary man, is in woman common enough,
and more often productive of disaster than the jealousy which
originates in nobler feeling. To suspect that she was the plaything of
Sibyl's subtlety, and that Redgrave smiled at her simplicity in never
having discovered an obvious rival, fired her blood to the fever point.
She could no longer balance probabilities; all the considerations which
hitherto declared for Sibyl's innocence lost their weight. Her
overexcited mind, her impaired health, were readily receptive of such
poison as distilled from the lips of Mrs. Strangeways. What she now
desired was proof. Only let evidence be afforded her, cost what it
might! After that, she saw her way.

No! Hugh Carnaby was assuredly not one of the men who wink at their
wives' dishonour, nor one of the men who go slinking for a remedy to
courts of law--or she mistook him strangely.

At receipt of the expected note from Porchester Terrace--it said
merely, 'Pray be here, if possible, at three tomorrow afternoon'--she
quivered with anticipation of seeing Redgrave. How it was to come
about, she did not ask, but Redgrave should not part