be abandoned to the
care of strangers. It was the natural result, no doubt, of her
impoverished condition; such was the world; had she still been wealthy,
her latter days would not have been condemned to solitude. But let him
remember that she still had in her disposal an income of about six
hundred pounds, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have passed
to Sibyl; by a will on the point of being executed, this money would
benefit a charitable institution. To him this might be a matter of
indifference; she merely mentioned the fact to save Sibyl a possible
disappointment.

Hugh and his wife, when both had read the letter, exchanged uneasy
glances.

'It isn't the money,' said Carnaby. 'Hang the money! But--after all,
Sibyl, she's your mother.'

'And what does _that_ mean?' Sibyl returned coldly. 'Shall I feel the
least bit of sorrow if she dies? Am I to play the hypocrite just
because this woman brought me into the world? We have always hated each
other, and whose fault? When I was a child, she left me to
dirty-minded, thieving servants; they were my teachers, and it's
wonderful enough that--that nothing worse came of it. When I grew up,
she left me to do as I pleased--anything so that I gave her no trouble.
Do you wish me to go and pretend----'

'I tell you what--I'll run down to Weymouth myself, shall I? Perhaps I
might arrange something--for her comfort, I mean.'

Sibyl carelessly assented. Having business in town, Hugh could not
start till afternoon, but he would reach Weymouth by half-past six, and
might manage to be back again in time for Mrs. Rolfe's concert tomorrow.

'I shouldn't put myself to any inconvenience on that account,' said
Sibyl, smiling.

'Out of regard for Rolfe, that's all.'

He left home at eleven, transacted his business, and at half-past one
turned in for lunch at a Strand restaurant before proceeding to
Waterloo. As he entered, he saw Mrs. Rolfe, alone at one of the tables;
she was drawing on her gloves, about to leave. They met with friendly
greeting, though Hugh, from the look with which Mrs. Rolfe recognised
him, had a conviction that his growing dislike of her was fully
reciprocated. In the brief talk before Alma withdrew, he told her that
he was going down into the country.

'To Coventry?' she asked, turning her eyes upon him.

'No; to Weymouth. Mrs. Larkfield is no better, I'm afraid, and--Sibyl
wants me to see her.'

'Then you won't be back----'

'For tomorrow?--o