urself
for next Tuesday. As for all _that_--leave it to me.'

Scarcely had Alma left the house, when she suddenly stood still, as
though she had forgotten something. Indeed she had. In the flush of
loyal resentment which repelled an imputation upon her husband's
honour, she had entirely lost sight of her secret grievance against
Harvey. Suddenly revived, the memory helped her to beat down that
assaulting shame which took advantage of reaction in mind and blood.
Harvey was not honest with her. Go as far as she might, short of the
unpardonable, there still remained to her a moral superiority over the
man she defended. And yet--she was glad to have defended him; it gave
her a sense of magnanimity. More than that, the glow of an honest
thought was strangely pleasant.

She had sundry people to see and pieces of business to transact. What a
nuisance that she lived so far from the centre of things! It was this
perpetual travelling that had disordered her health, and made
everything twice as troublesome as it need be. Today, again, she had a
headache, and the scene with Mrs. Strangeways had made it worse.

In Regent Street she met Dymes. She was not afraid of him now, for she
had learnt how to make him keep his distance; and after the great day,
if he continued to trouble her, he might be speedily sent to the
right-about. He made an inspiriting report: already a considerable
number of tickets had been sold--enough, he said, or all but enough, to
clear expenses.

'What, advertising and all?' asked Alma.

'Oh, leave that to me. Advertising is a work of art. If you like just
to come round to my rooms, I'll----'

'Haven't time today. See you at the Hall on Monday.'

A batch of weekly newspapers which arrived next morning, Saturday,
proved to her that Dymes was sufficiently active. There were more
paragraphs; there were two reproductions of her portrait; and as for
advertisements, she tried, with some anxiety, to conjecture the cost of
these liberal slices of page, with their eye-attracting type. Naturally
the same question would occur to her husband, but Harvey kept his word;
whatever he thought, he said nothing. And Alma found it easier to be
good-humoured with him than at any time since she had read Mary
Abbott's letter; perhaps yesterday's event accounted for it.

They dined at the Carnabys', the first time for months that they had
dined from home together. Harvey would have shirked the occasion, had
it been possible.