had come to her immediately after the concert. To none of
the letters had she replied; it was time for her to go through them,
and answer, with due apologies, those which deserved an answer. Several
did not; they were from people whom she hoped never to see
again--people who wrote in fulsome terms, because they fancied she
would become a celebrity. The news of her breakdown had appeared in a
few newspapers, and brought her letters of sympathy; these also lay
unanswered. On a day of late autumn she brought herself to the task of
looking through this correspondence, and in the end she burnt it all.
Among the half-dozen people to whom she decided to write was Felix
Dymes; not out of gratitude, or any feeling of friendliness, but
because she could not overcome a certain fear of the man. He was
capable of any meanness, perhaps of villainy; and perhaps he harboured
malice against her, seeing that she had foiled him to the last. She
penned a few lines asking him to let her have a complete statement of
the financial results of her recital, which it seemed strange that he
had not sent already.

'My health,' she added, 'is far from re-established, and I am unable
either to go to town or to ask you to come and see me. It is rather
doubtful whether I shall ever again play in public.'

In her own mind there lingered no doubt at all, but she thought it
better not to be too abrupt with Dymes.

After burning all the letters, she read once more through the press
notices of her performance. It was significant that the musical critics
whose opinion had any weight gave her only a word or two of cautious
commendation; her eulogists were writers who probably knew much less
about music than she, and who reported concerts from the social point
of view. Popular journalism represented her debut as a striking
success. Had she been able to use her opportunity to the utmost,
doubtless something of a 'boom'--the word then coming into
fashion--might have resulted for her; she could have given two or three
more recitals before the end of the season, have been much photographed
and paragraphed, and then have gone into the country 'to spread her
conquests farther'. This was Felix Dymes's hope. Writing with all
propriety, he had yet allowed it to be seen how greatly he was vexed
and disappointed at her failure to take the flood. Alma, too, had
regretful moments; but she fought against the feeling with all her
strength. Today she all but found courage