roll upon the tongue of the announcing
footman. She had a vision of Sibyl in that august company; Sibyl,
coldly beautiful, admirably sage, with--perhaps--ever so little of the
air of a martyr, to heighten her impressiveness.

When she could command herself, she glanced hurriedly through column
after column of all the papers, seeking for that name again. In one, an
illustrated publication, she came upon a couple of small portraits,
side by side. Surely she recognised that face--the bold,
coarse-featured man, with his pretentious smile? But the girl, no; a
young and very pretty girl, smirking a little, with feathery hair which
faded off into an aureole. The text was illuminating.

'I am able to announce,' wrote Ego, 'and I think I shall be one of the
first to do so, that the brilliant composer, Mr. Felix Dymes, will
shortly vanish from the gay (if naughty) world of bachelorhood. I learn
on excellent authority that Mr. Dymes has quite recently become engaged
to Miss Lettice Almond, a very charming young lady, whose many gifts
(especially musical) have as yet been known only to a comparatively
small circle, and for the delightful reason that she is still only
eighteen. Miss Almond is the daughter of Mr. Haliburton Almond, senior
partner in the old and well-known firm of Almond Brothers, the
manufacturers of fireworks. She is an only daughter, and, though she
has two brothers, I may add (I trust without indiscretion) that the
title of heiress may be fittingly applied to her. The marriage may take
place in November, and will doubtless be a brilliant as well as a most
interesting affair. By-the-bye, Mr. Dymes's new opera is not likely to
be ready till next year, but some who have been privileged to hear the
parts already composed declare that it will surpass even "Blue Roses"
in the charm of sweet yet vivacious melody.'

When she had read and mused for more than an hour, Alma tore out the
two passages that had a personal interest for her, and put them in her
purse. The papers she left lying for anyone who chose to pick them up.

A fortnight later she was back at Gunnersbury; where, indeed, she would
have been content to stay all through the summer, had not Harvey and
the doctor insisted on her leaving home. All sorts of holidays had been
proposed, but nothing of the kind attracted her. She declared that she
was quite well, and that she preferred home to anywhere else; she had
got used to it, and did not wish to be unsettled