gh, as his custom was, paced the floor. Nowadays he could not keep
still, and he had contracted an odd habit of swinging his right arm,
with fist clenched, as though relieving his muscles after some unusual
constraint.

'By Jove, Sibyl, when I compare her with you!--I feel sorry for Rolfe;
can't help it. Why didn't you stop this silly business before it went
so far?'

'That's a characteristic question, dear boy,' Sibyl replied merrily.
'There are more things in life--particularly woman's life--than your
philosophy ever dreamt of. Alma has quite outgrown me, and I begin to
suspect that she won't honour me with her acquaintance much longer.'

'Why?'

'For one thing, we belong to different worlds, don't you see; and the
difference, in future, will be rather considerable.'

'Well, I'm sorry. Rolfe isn't half the man he was. Why on earth didn't
_he_ stop it? He hates it, anyone can see. Why, if I were in his
place----'

Sibyl interrupted with her mellow laughter.

'You wouldn't be a bit wiser. It's the fate of men--except those who
have the courage to beat their wives. You know you came back to England
at my heels when you didn't want to. Now, a little energy, a little
practice with the horsewhip----'

Carnaby made pretence of laughing. But he turned away his face; the
jest had too serious an application. Yes, yes, if he had disregarded
Sibyl's wishes, and stayed on the other side of the world! It seemed to
him strange that she could speak of the subject so lightly; he must
have been more successful than he thought in concealing his true state
of mind.

'Rolfe tells me he has got a house at Gunnersbury.'

'Yes; he mentioned it to me. Why Gunnersbury? There must be some reason
they don't tell us.'

'Ask his wife,' said Hugh, impatiently. 'No doubt the choice is hers.'

'No doubt. But I don't think,' added Sibyl musingly, 'I shall ask Alma
that or anything else. I don't think I care much for Alma in her new
development. For a time I shall try leaving her alone.'

'Well, I'm sorry for poor old Rolfe,' repeated Hugh.

CHAPTER 12

On Monday morning Hugh Carnaby received a letter from Mrs. Ascott
Larkfield. It was years since Sibyl's mother had written to him, and
the present missive, scrawled in an unsteady hand, gave him some
concern. Mrs. Larkfield wrote that she was very ill, so ill that she
had abandoned hope of recovery. She asked him whether, as her
son-in-law, he thought it right that she should