CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Joseph Whitmore Barry 
 dramatic library 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 TWO FRIENDS 
 
 OF Cornell University 
 1934 
 
PR4716.W5T897"'""""-"'"^'' 
 
 The whirlpool. 
 
 3 1924 013 458 405 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013458405 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE GISSING 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE UNCLASSEd/' " IN THE YEAR OF JUBILEE," ** EVE's RANSOM," ETC. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Ttlevo Korft 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 i-l:.'l;Af;Y,. 
 
Ws- 
 
 Copyright, 1897, by 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 A U rights reserved 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 PART THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Harvey Rolfe was old enough to dine with deliberation, 
 young and healthy enough to sauce with appetite the dishes he 
 thoughtfully selected. You perceived in him the imperfect epicure. 
 His club had no culinary fame ; the dinner was merely tolerable ; 
 but Rolfe's unfinished palate flattered the second-rate cook. He 
 knew nothing of vintages ; it sufificed him to distinguish between 
 Bordeaux and Burgundy ; yet one saw him raise his glass and peer 
 at the liquor with eye of connoisseur. All unaffectedly ; for he 
 was conscious of his shortcoming in the art of delicate living, and 
 never vaunted his satisfactions. He had known the pasture of 
 poverty, and the table as it is set by London landladies ; to look 
 back on these things was to congratulate himself that nowadays he 
 dined. 
 
 Beyond the achievement of a vague personal distinction at the 
 Metropolitan Club, he had done nothing to make himself a man of 
 note, and it was doubtful whether more than two or three of the 
 members really liked him or regarded him with genuine interest. 
 His introduction to this circle he owed to an old friend, Hugh 
 Carnaby, whose social position was much more clearly defined : 
 Hugh Carnaby, the rambler, the sportsman, and now for a twelve- 
 month the son-in-law of Mrs. Ascott Larkfield. Through Carnaby 
 people learnt as much of his friend's history as it concerned any 
 one to know: that Harvey Rolfe had begun with the study of 
 medicine, had given it up in disgust, subsequently was " in busi- 
 ness," and withdrew from it on inheriting a competency. They 
 
2 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 were natives of the same county, and learnt their Latin together at 
 the Grammar School of Greystone, the midland town ^hich was 
 missed by the steam highroad, and so preserves much of the 
 beauty and tranquillity of days gone by. Rolfe seldom spoke of 
 his own affairs, but in talking of travel he had been heard to men- 
 tion that his father had engineered certain lines of foreign railway. 
 It seemed that Harvey had no purpose in life, save that of enjoy- 
 ing himself. Obviously he read a good deal, and Carnaby credited 
 him with profound historical knowledge ; but he neither wrote nor 
 threatened to do so. Something of cynicism appeared in his talk 
 of public matters ; politics amused him, and his social views 
 lacked consistency, tending, however, to an indolent conservatism. 
 Despite his convivial qualities, he had traits of the reserved, even 
 of the unsociable, man : a slight awkwardness in bearing, a mute 
 shyness with strangers, a hesitancy in ordinary talk, and occasional 
 bluntness of assertion or contradiction, suggesting a contempt 
 which possibly he did not intend. Hugh Carnaby declared that 
 the true Rolfe only showed himself after a bottle of wine ; main- 
 tained, moreover, that Harvey had vastly improved since he en- 
 tered upon a substantial income. When Rolfe was five and 
 twenty, Hugh being two years younger, they met after a long 
 separation, and found each other intolerable ; a decade later their 
 meeting led to hearty friendship. Rolfe had become independent, 
 and was tasting his freedom in a twelvemonth's travel. The men 
 came face to face one day on the deck of a steamer at Port Said. 
 Physically, Rolfe had changed so much that the other had a diffi- 
 culty in recognising him ; morally, the change was not less marked, 
 as Carnaby very soon became aware. At thirty-seven this process 
 of development was by no means arrested, but its slow and subtle 
 working escaped observation — unless it were that of Harvey Rolfe 
 himself. 
 
 His guest this evening, in a quiet corner of the dining-room 
 where he generally sat, was a man, ten years his junior, named 
 Morphew : slim, narrow-shouldered, with sandy hair, and pale, 
 delicate features of more sensibility than intelligence ; restless, 
 vivacious, talking incessantly in a low, rapid voice, with frequent 
 nervous laughs which threw back his drooping head. A dif- 
 ference of costume — Rolfe wore morning dress, Morphew the 
 suit of ceremony — accentuated the younger man's advantage in 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 3 
 
 natural and acquired graces ; otherwise, tiiey presented the con- 
 trast of character and insignificance. Rolfe had a shaven chin, a 
 weathered complexion, thiclc brown hair ; the penumbra of middle- 
 age had touched his countenance, softening here and there a line 
 which told of temperament in excess. At this moment his man- 
 ner inclined to a bluff jocularity, due in some measure to the 
 bottle of wine before him, as also was the tinge of colour upon his 
 cheek ; he spoke briefly, but listened with smiling interest to his 
 guest's continuous talk. This ran on the subject of the money- 
 market, with which the young man boasted some practical ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " You don't speculate at all ? " Morphew asked. 
 
 " Shouldn't know how to go about it," replied the other in his 
 deeper note. 
 
 " It seems to me to be the simplest thing in the world if one is 
 content with moderate profits. I'm going in for it seriously — cau- 
 tiously — as a matter of business. I've studied the thing — got it 
 up as I used to work at something for an exam. And here, you 
 see, I've made five pounds at a stroke — five pounds ! Suppose I 
 make that every now and then, it's worth the trouble, you know — • 
 it mounts up. And I shall never stand to lose much. You see, 
 it's Tripcony's interest that I should make profits." 
 
 "I'm not quite sure of that." 
 
 " Oh, but it is ! Let me explain " 
 
 These two had come to know each other under peculiar cir- 
 cumstances a year ago. Rolfe was at Brussels, staying — his cus- 
 tom when abroad — at a hotel unfrequented by English folk. One 
 evening on his return from the theatre, he learnt that a young 
 man of his own nationality lay seriously ill in a room at the top of 
 the house. Harvey, moved by compassion, visited the unfortu- 
 nate Englishman, listened to his ravings, and played the part of 
 Good Samaritan. On recovery, the stranger made full disclosure 
 of his position. Being at Brussels on a holiday, he had got into 
 the company of gamblers, and after winning a large sum (ten 
 thousand francs, he declared), had lost not only that, but all else 
 that he possessed, including his jewellery. He had gambled de- 
 liberately ; he wanted money, money, and saw no other way of 
 obtaining it. In the expansive mood of convalescence, Cecil Mor- 
 phew left no detail of his story unrevealed. He was of gentle 
 
4 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 birth, and had a private income of three hundred pounds, charged 
 upon the estate of a distant relative ; his profession (the bar) could 
 not be remunerative for years, and other prospects he had none. 
 The misery of his situation lay in the fact that he was desperately 
 in love with the daughter of people who looked upon him as little 
 better than a pauper. The girl had pledged herself to him, but 
 would not marry without her parents' consent, of which there was 
 no hope till he had at least trebled his means. His choice of a 
 pi'ofession was absurd, dictated merely by social opinion ; he 
 should have been working hard in a commercial office, or at some 
 open-air pursuit. Naturally he turned again to the thought of 
 gambling, this time the great legalised game of hazard, wherein he 
 was as little likely to prosper as among the blacklegs of Brussels. 
 Rolfe liked him for his ingenuousness, and for the vein of poetry 
 in his nature. The love affair still went on, but Morphew seldom 
 alluded to it, and his seasoned friend thought of it as a youthful 
 ailment which would pass and be forgotten. 
 
 " I'm convinced," said the young man presently, " that any one 
 who really gives his mind to it can speculate with moderate suc- 
 cess. Look at the big men — the brokers and the company pro- 
 moters, and so on ; I've met some of them, and there's nothing in 
 them — nothing I Now, there's Bennet Frothingham. You know 
 him, I think ?" 
 
 Rolfe nodded. 
 
 " Well, what do you think of him ? Isn't he a very ordinary fel- 
 low ? How has he got such a position ? I'm told he began just 
 in a small way — by chance. No doubt he found it so easy to 
 make money he was surprised at his success. Tripcony has told 
 me a lot about him. Why, the ' Britannia ' brings him fifteen 
 thousand a year ; and he must be in a score of other things." 
 
 " I know nothing about the figures," said Rolfe, " and I shouldn't 
 put rriuch faith in Tripcony ; but Frothingham, you may be sure, 
 isn't quite an ordinary man." 
 
 " Ah, well, of course there's a certain knack — and then, expe- 
 rience " 
 
 Morphew emptied his glass, and refilled it. Nearly all the tables 
 in the room were now occupied, and the general hum of talk gave 
 security to intimate dialogue. Flushed and bright-eyed, the young 
 man presently leaned forward. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL - s 
 
 " If I could count upon five hundred, she would take the step." 
 
 " Indeed ? " 
 
 " Yes, that's settled. What do you think ? Plenty of people 
 live very well on less." 
 
 " You want my serious opinion ? " 
 
 " If you can be serious." 
 
 " Then I think that the educated man who marries on less than 
 a thousand is either mad or a criminal." 
 
 " Bosh ! We won't talk about it." 
 
 They rose, and walked towards the smoking-room, Rolfe giving 
 a nod here and there as he passed acquaintances. In the hall some 
 one addressed him. 
 
 " How does Carnaby take this affair ? " 
 
 " What affair ? " 
 
 "Don't you know? Their house has been robbed — stripped. 
 It's in the evening papers." 
 
 Rolfe went on into the smoking-room, and read the report of 
 his friend's misfortune. The Carnabys occupied a house in Ham- 
 ilton Terrace. During their absence from home last night, there 
 had been a clean sweep of all such things of value as could easily 
 be removed. The disappearance of their housekeeper, and the 
 fact that this woman had contrived the absence of the servants 
 from nine o'clock till midnight, left no mystery in the matter. The 
 clubmen talked of it with amusement. Hard lines, to be sure, for 
 Carnaby, and yet harder for his wife, who had lost no end of jew- 
 ellery ; but the thing was so neatly and completely done, one must 
 needs laugh. One or two husbands who enjoyed the luxury of a 
 .housekeeper betrayed their uneasiness. A discussion arose on the 
 characteristics of housekeepers in general, and spread over the vast 
 subject of domestic management, not often debated at the Metro- 
 politan Club. In general talk of this kind Rolfe never took part ; 
 smoking his pipe, he listened and laughed, and was at moments 
 thoughtful. Cecil Morphew, rapidly consuming cigarettes as he 
 lay back in a soft chair, pointed the moral of the story in favour of 
 humble domesticity. 
 
 In half-an-hour, his guest having taken leave, Rolfe put on his 
 overcoat, and stepped out into the cold, clammy November night. 
 He was overtaken by a fellow Metropolitan — a grizzled, scraggy- 
 throated, hollow-eyed man, who laid a tremulous hand upon his arm. 
 
6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Rolfe, have you seen Frothingham recently? " 
 
 "Not for a month." 
 
 "Ah! I thought perhaps — I was wondering what he thought 
 about the Colebrook smash. To tell you the truth, I've heard un- 
 pleasant rumours. Do you — should you think the Colebrook affair 
 would affect the Britannia in any way ? " 
 
 It was not the first time that this man had confided his doubts 
 and timidities to Harvey Rolfe ; he had a small, but to him im- 
 portant, interest in Bennet Frothingham's wide-reaching affairs, 
 and seemed to spend most of his time in eliciting opinion on the 
 financier's stability. 
 
 " Wouldn't you be much more comfortable," said Rolfe, rather 
 bluntly, " if you had your money in some other kind of security ? " 
 
 " Ah, but, my dear sir, twelve and a half per cent. — twelve and a 
 half ! I hold preference shares of the original issue." 
 
 " Then I'm afraid you must take your chance." 
 
 " But," piped the other in alarm, " you don't mean that " 
 
 " I mean nothing, and know nothing. I'm the last man to con- 
 sult about such things." 
 
 And Rolfe, with an abrupt " Good-night," beckoned to a passing 
 hansom. The address he gave was Hugh Carnaby's, in Hamilton 
 Terrace. 
 
 Twice already the horse had slipped at slimy crossings, when, 
 near the top of Regent Street, it fell full length, and the abrupt 
 stoppage caused a collision of wheels with another hansom which 
 was just passing at full speed in the same direction. Rolfe man- 
 aged to alight in the ordinary way, and at once heard himself greeted 
 by a familiar voice from the other cab. His acquaintance showed 
 a" pallid, drawn, all but cadaverous visage,^ with eyes which con- 
 cealed pain or weariness under their friendly smile. Abbott was 
 the man's name. Formerly a lecturer at a provincial college, he 
 had resigned his post on marrying, and taken to journalism. 
 
 "I want to speak to you, Rolfe,'' he said hurriedly, "but I 
 haven't a moment to spare. Going to Euston — could you come 
 along for a few minutes ? " 
 
 The vehicles were not damaged ; Abbott's driver got quickly out 
 of the crowd, and the two men continued their conversation. 
 
 " Do you know anything of Wager ? " inquired the journalist, 
 with a troubled look. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 7 
 
 " He came to see me a few evenings ago — late." 
 
 " Ha, he did ! To borrow money, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Well, yes.'' 
 
 " I thought so. He came to me for the same. Said he'd got a 
 berth at Southampton. Lie, of course. The fellow has disap- 
 peared, and left his children — left them in a lodging-house at Ham- 
 mersmith. How's that for cool brutality ? The landlady found 
 my wife's address, and came to see her. Address left out on pur- 
 pose, I dare say. There was nothing for it but to take care of the 
 poor little brats. — Oh, damn ! " 
 
 " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " Neuralgia — driving me mad. Teeth, I think. I'll have every 
 one wrenched out of my head if this goes on. Never mind. 
 What do you think of Wager.' " 
 
 " I remember, when we were at Guy's, he used to advocate the 
 nationalisation of offspring. Probably he had some personal in- 
 terest in the matter, even then." 
 
 " Hound ! I don't know whether to set the police after him 
 or not. It wouldn't benefit the children. I suppose it's no use 
 hunting for his family ? " 
 
 " Not much, I should say."' 
 
 " Well, lucky we have no children of our own. Worst of it is, I 
 don't like the poor little wretches, and my wife doesn't either. 
 We must find a home for them." 
 
 " I say, Abbott, you must let me go halves at that." 
 
 " Hang it, no ! Why should you support Wager's children ? 
 They're relatives of ours, unfortunately. But I wanted to tell you 
 that I'm going down to Waterbury." He looked at his watch. 
 " Thirteen minutes — shall I doit? There's a good local paper, 
 the Free Press, and I have the offer of part-ownership. I shall 
 buy, if possible, and live in the country for a year or two, to pick 
 up my health. Can't say I love London. Might get into country 
 journalism for good. Curse this torment ! " 
 
 In Tottenham Court Road, Rolfe bade his friend good-bye, and 
 the cab rushed on. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 It was half-past ten when Rolfe knocked at the door in Hamil- 
 ton Terrace. He learnt from the servant that Mr. Carnaby was at 
 home, and had company. In the room known as the library, four 
 men sat smoking ; their voices pealed into the hall as the door 
 opened, and a boisterous welcome greeted the new-comer's appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " Come to condole ? " cried Hugh, striding forward with his 
 man-of-the-wide-world air, and holding out his big hand. " No 
 doubt they're having a high old time at the club. Does it please 
 them ? Does it tickle them ? " 
 
 " Why, naturally. There's the compensation, my boy — you 
 contribute to the gaiety of your friends." 
 
 Carnaby was a fair example of the well-bred, well-fed English- 
 man — tall, brawny, limber, not uncomely, with a red neck, a 
 powerful jaw, and a keen eye. Something more of repose, of self- 
 possession, and a slightly more intellectual brow, would have 
 made him the best type of conquering, civilising Briton. He 
 came of good family, but had small inheritance ; his tongue told of 
 age-long domination ; his physique and carriage showed the horse- 
 man, the game-stalker, the nomad. Hugh had never bent over 
 books since the day when he declined the university and got leave 
 to join Colonel Bosworth's exploring party in the Caucasus. After 
 a boyhood of straitened circumstances, he profited by a skilful 
 stewardship which allowed him to hope for some seven hundred a 
 year : his elder brother. Miles, a fine fellow, who went into the 
 array, pinching himself to benefit Hugh and their sister Ruth. 
 Miles was now Major Carnaby, active on the North-West Fron- 
 tier. Ruth was wife of a missionary in some land of swamps ; 
 doomed by climate, but of spirit indomitable. It seemed strange 
 that Hugh, at five and thirty, had done nothing particular. Per- 
 haps his income explained it — too small for traditional purposes, 
 just large enough to foster indolence. For Hugh had not even 
 followed up his promise of becoming an explorer ; he had merely 
 rambled, mostly in pursuit of fowl or quadruped. When he 
 married, all hope for him was at an end. The beautiful and bril- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 9 
 
 liant daughter of a fashionable widow, her income a trifle more 
 than Carnaby's own ; devoted to the life of cities, wherein she 
 shone ; an enchantress whose spell would not easily be broken, 
 before whom her husband bowed in delighted subservience — such 
 a woman might flatter Hugh's pride, but could scarce be expected 
 to draw out his latent energies and capabilities. This year, for 
 the first time, he had visited no wild country ; his journeying led 
 only to Paris, to Vienna. In due season he shot his fifty brace on 
 somebody's grouse-moor, but the sport did not exhilarate him. 
 
 An odd and improbable alliance, that between Hugh Carnaby 
 and Harvey Rolfe. Yet in several ways they suited each other. 
 OJd-time memories had a little, not much, to do with it ; more of 
 the essence of the matter was their feeling of likeness in differ- 
 ence. Ten years ago Carnaby felt inclined to call his old school 
 fellow a " cad " ; Harvey saw nothing in Hugh but robust snob- 
 bishness. Nowadays they had the pleasant sense of understand- 
 ing each other on most points, and the result was a good deal of 
 honest mutual admiration. The one's physical vigour and adroit- 
 ness, the other's active mind, liberal thoughts, studious habits, 
 proved reciprocally attractive. Though in unlike ways, both were 
 impressively modern. Of late it had seemed as if the man of 
 open-air, checked in his natural courses, thrown back upon his 
 meditations, turned to the student, with hope of guidance in new 
 paths, of counsel amid unfamiliar obstacles. To the observant 
 Rolfe, his friend's position abounded in speculative interest. With 
 the course of years, each had lost many a harsher characteristic, 
 whilst the inner man matured. That their former relations were 
 gradually being reversed, neither perhaps had consciously noted ; 
 but even in the jests which passed between them on Harvey's ar- 
 rival this evening, it appeared plainly enough that Hugh Carnaby 
 no longer felt the slightest inclination to regard his friend as an 
 inferior. 
 
 The room, called library, contained one small case of books, 
 which dealt with travel and sport. Furniture of the ordinary kind, 
 still new, told of easy circumstances and domestic comfort. Round 
 about the walls hung a few paintings and photographs, intermin- 
 gled with the stuffed heads of animals slain in the chase, notably 
 that of a great ibex with magnificent horns. 
 
 " Come, now, tell me all about it," said Rolfe, as he mixed 
 
10 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 himself a glass of whisky and water. " I don't see that anything 
 has gone from this room." 
 
 " Don't you ? " cried his host, with a scornful laugh. " Where 
 are my silver-mounted pistols ? Where's the ibex-hoof made into 
 a paper-weight ? And " — he raised his voice to a shout of comical 
 despair — " where's my cheque-book ? " 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " I wish / did. It must break the record for a neat house-rob- 
 bery, don't you think .? And they'll never be caught — I'll bet you 
 anything you like they won't. The job was planned weeks ago ; 
 that woman came into the house with no other purpose." 
 
 " But didn't your wife know anything about her.' " 
 
 " What can one know about such people .' There were refer- 
 ences, I believe — as valuable as references usually are. She must 
 be an old hand. But I'm sick of the subject ; let's drop it. — You 
 were interrupted, Hollings. What about that bustard ? " 
 
 A very tall, spare man, who seemed to rouse himself from a 
 nap, resumed his story of bustard- stalking in Spain last spring. 
 Carnaby, who knew the country well, listened with lively interest, 
 and followed with reminiscences of his own. He told of a certain 
 boar, shot in the Sierras, which weighed something like four hun- 
 dred pounds. He talked, too, of flamingoes on the " marismas " 
 of the Guadalquivir ; of punting day after day across the tawny 
 expanse of water ; of cooking his meals on sandy islets at a fire 
 made of tamarisk and thistle ; of lying wakeful in the damp, chilly 
 nights, listening to frogs and bitterns. Then again of his ibex- 
 hunting on the Cordilleras of Castile, when he brought down that 
 fine fellow whose head adorned his room, the horns just thirty- 
 eight inches long. And in the joy of these recollections there 
 seemed to sound a regretful note, as if he spoke of things gone by 
 and irrecoverable, no longer for him. 
 
 One of the men present had recently been in Cyprus, and men- 
 tioned it with disgust. Rolfe also had visited the island, and 
 remembered it much, more agreeably, his impressions seeming to 
 be chiefly gastronomic ; he recalled the exquisite flavour of Cyprian 
 hares, the fat francolin, the delicious beccaficoes in commanderia 
 wine ; with merry banter from Carnaby, professing to despise a 
 man who knew nothing of game but its taste. The conversation 
 reverted to technicalities of sport, full of terms and phrases unin- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL ii 
 
 telligible to Harvey ; jrecounting feats with " Empress " and " Para- 
 dox," the deadly results of a " treble A," or of " treble-nesting 
 slugs," and boasting of a " right and left with No. 6." Hugh 
 appeared to forget all about his domestic calamity ; only when 
 his guests rose did he recur to it, and with an air of contemptuous 
 impatience. But he made a sign to Rolf e, requesting him to stay, 
 and at midnight the two friends sat alone together. 
 
 " Sibyl has gone to her mother's," began Hugh in a changed 
 voice. " The poor girl takes it pluckily. It's a damnable thing, 
 you know, for a woman to lose her rings and bracelets and so on 
 —even such a woman as Sibyl. She tried to laugh it off, but I 
 Could see — we must buy them again, that's all. And that reminds 
 me — ^what's your real opinion of Frothinghadi ? " 
 
 Harvey laughed. 
 
 " When such a lot of people go about asking that question, it 
 would make me rather uneasy if I had anything at stake.'' 
 
 " They do ? So it struck me. The fact is, we have a good 
 deal at stake. The dowager swears by Frothingham. I be- 
 lieve every penny she has is in the ' Britannia,' one way or 
 another." 
 
 " It's a wide net," said Rolfe musjngly. " The Britannia Loan, 
 Assurance, Investment, and Banking Company, Limited. Very 
 good name, I've often thought." 
 
 " Yes ; but, look here, you don't seriously doubt " 
 
 " My opinion is worthless. I know no more of finance than of 
 the Cabala. Frothingham personally I rather like, and that's all I 
 can say." 
 
 " The fact is, I have been thinking of putting some of my own 
 —yet I don't think I shall. We're going away for the winter. 
 Sibyl wants to give up the house, and I think she's right. For 
 people like us, it's mere foolery to worry with a house and a lot 
 of servants. We're neither of us cut out for that kind of thing. 
 Sibyl hates housekeeping. Well, you can't expect a woman like 
 her to manage a pack of thieving, lying, lazy servants. The 
 housekeeper idea hasn't been a conspicuous success, you see, and 
 there's nothing for it but hotel or boarding-house." 
 
 " If you remember," said Rolfe, " I hinted something of the 
 kind a year ago." 
 
 " Yes ; but — well, you know, when people marry they generally 
 
12 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 look for a certain natural consequence. If wc have no children, 
 it'll be all right." 
 
 Rolfe meditated for a moment. 
 
 " You remember that fellow Wager — the man you met at Ab- 
 bott's ? His wife died a year ago, and now he has bolted, leaving 
 his two children in a lodging-house." 
 
 " What a damned scoundrel ! " cried Hugh, with a note of hon- 
 est indignation. 
 
 " Well, yes ; but there's something to be said for him. It's a 
 natural revolt against domestic bondage. Of course, as things 
 are, some one else has to bear the bother and expense ; but that's 
 only our state of barbarism. A widower with two young children 
 and no income — imagine the position. Of course, he ought to be 
 able to get rid of them in some legitimate way — state institution—^ 
 anything you like that answers to reason." 
 
 " I don't know whether it would work." 
 
 " Some day it will. People talk such sentimental rubbish about 
 children. I would have the parents know nothing about them till 
 they're ten or twelve years old. They're a burden, a hindrance, a 
 perpetual source of worry and misery. Most wives are sacrificed 
 to the next generation — an outrageous absurdity. People snivel 
 over the deaths of babies ; I see nothing to grieve about. If a 
 child dies, why, the probabilities are it ought to die ; if it lives, it 
 lives, and you get survival of the fittest. We don't want to choke 
 the world with people, most of them rickety and wheezing ; let us 
 be healthy, and have breathing space." 
 
 " I believe in that," said Carnaby. 
 
 " You're going away, then. Where to ? " 
 
 "That's the point," replied Hugh, moving uneasily. ''You see, 
 with Sibyl — . I have suggested Davos. Some people she knows 
 are there — girls who go in for tobogganing, and have a good time. 
 But Sibyl's afraid of the cold. I can't convince her that it's noth- 
 ing to what we endure here in the beastliness of a London winter. 
 She hates the thought of ice and snow and mountains. A great 
 pity ; it would do her no end of good. I suppose we must go to 
 the Riviera." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and for a moment there was silence. 
 
 " By-the-bye," he resumed, "I have a letter from Miles, and 
 you'd like to see it." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 13 
 
 From a pile of letters on the table he selected one written on two 
 sheets of thin paper, and handed it to Rolfe. The writing was 
 bold, the style vigorous, the matter fresh and interesting. Major 
 Carnaby had no graces of expression ; but all the more engrossing 
 was his brief narrative of mountain warfare, declaring its truthful- 
 ness in every stroke of the pen. 
 
 " Fine fellow ! " exclaimed Rolfe, when he had read to the end. 
 " Splendid fellow ! " 
 
 " Isn't he ! And he's seeing life.'' 
 
 " That's where you ought to be, my boy," remarked Rolfe, be- 
 tween puffs of tobacco. 
 
 " I dare say. No use thinking about it. Too late." 
 
 " If I had a son,'' pursued Harvey, smiling at the hypothesis, 
 " I think I'd make a fighting man of him, or try to. At all events, 
 he should go out somewhere, and beat the big British drum, one 
 way or another. I believe it's our only hope. We're rotting at 
 home — some of us sunk in barbarism, some coddling themselves 
 in over-refinement. What's the use of preaching peace and civil- 
 isation, when we know that England's just beginning her big 
 fight — the fight that will put all history into the shade ! We have 
 to lead the world ; it's our destiny ; and we must do it by break- 
 ing heads. That's the nature of the human animal, and will be 
 for ages to come." 
 
 Carnaby nodded assent. 
 
 " If we were all like your brother," Rolfe went on. "I'm glad 
 he's fighting in India, and not in Africa. I can't love the bucca- 
 neering shopkeeper, the whisky-distiller with a rifle — ugh ! " 
 
 " I hate that kind of thing. The gold grubbers and diamond 
 bagmen ! But it's part of the march onward. We must have 
 money, you know." 
 
 The speaker's forehead wrinkled, and again he moved uneasily. 
 Rolfe regarded him with a reflective air. 
 
 " That man you saw here to-night," Carnaby went on, " the 
 short, thick fellow — his name is Dando — he's just come back from 
 Queensland. I don't quite know what he's been doing, but he 
 evidently knows a good deal about mines. He says he has in- 
 vented a new process for getting gold out of ore — I don't know 
 anything about it. In the early days of mining, he says, no end 
 of valuable stuff was abandoned, because they couldn't smelt it. 
 
14 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Something about pyrites — I have a vague recollection of old chem- 
 istry lessons. Dando wants to start smelting works for his new 
 process, somewhere in North Queensland." 
 
 •■ And wants money, I dare say," remarked the listener, with a 
 twinkle of the eye. 
 
 " I suppose so. It was Carton that brought him here for the 
 first time, a week ago. Might be worth thinking about, you 
 know." 
 
 " I have no opinion. My profound ignorance of everything 
 keeps me in a state of perpetual scepticism. It has its advantages, 
 I dare say." 
 
 " You're very conservative, Rolfe, in your finance." 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " Quite right, no doubt. Could you join us at Nice or some 
 such place .'' " 
 
 " Why, I rather thought of sticking to my books. But if the 
 fogs are very bad " 
 
 " And you would seriously advise us to give up the house .' " 
 
 " My dear fellow, how can you hesitate ? Your wife is quite 
 right ; there's not one good word to be said for the ordinary life 
 of an English household. Flee from it ! Live anywhere and any- 
 how, but don't keep house in England. Wherever I go, it's the 
 same cry : domestic life is played out. There isn't a servant to be 
 had — unless you're a Duke and breed them on your own estate. 
 All ordinary housekeepers are at the mercy of the filth and insol- 
 ence of a draggle-tailed, novelette-reading feminine democracy. 
 Before very long we shall train an army of men-servants, and send 
 the women to the devil." 
 
 "Queer thing, Rolfe," put in his friend, with a laugh; "I've 
 noticed it of late, you're getting to be a regular woman-hater." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. I hate a dirty, lying, incapable creature, that's 
 all, whether man or woman. No doubt they're more common in 
 petticoats." 
 
 " Been to the Frothinghams' lately.' " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I used to think you were there rather often." 
 
 Rolfe gave a sort of grunt, and kept silence. 
 
 " To ray mind," pursued the other, "the best thing about Alma 
 is that she appreciates my wife. She has really a great admiration 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 15 
 
 for Sibyl ; no sham about it, I'm sure. I don't pretend to know 
 much about women, but I fancy that kind of thing isn't common — 
 real friendship and admiration between them. People always say 
 so, at all events." 
 
 " I take refugee once more," said Rolfe, " in my fathomless 
 ignorance." 
 
 He rose from his chair, and sat down again on a corner of the 
 table. Carnaby stood up, threw his arms above his head, and 
 yawned with animal vehemence, the expression of an intolerable 
 ennui. 
 
 " There's something damnably wrong with us all— that's the 
 one thing certain." 
 
 " Idleness, for one thing," said Rolfe. 
 
 " Yes. And I'm too old to do anything. Why didn't I follow 
 Miles into the army ? I think I was more cut out for that than for 
 anything else. I often feel I should like to go to South Africa 
 and get up a little war of my own." 
 
 Rolfe shouted laughter. 
 
 " Not half a bad idea, and the easiest thing in the world, no 
 doubt." 
 
 " Nigger-hunting ; a superior big game.'' 
 
 " There's more than that to do in South Africa," said Harvey. 
 " I was looking at a map in Stanford's window the other day, and 
 it amused me. Who believes for a moment that England will 
 remain satisfied with bits here and there ? We have to swallow 
 the whole, of course. We shall go on fighting and annexing, until 
 — until the decline and fall of the British Empire. That hasn't 
 begun yet. Some of us are so over-civilised that it makes a re- 
 action of wholesome barbarism in the rest. We shall fight like 
 blazes in the twentieth century. It's the only thing that keeps 
 Englishmen sound ; commercialism is their curse. Happily, no 
 sooner do they get fat than they kick, and somebody's shin 
 suffers ; then they fight off the excessive flesh.' War is England's 
 Banting." 
 
 " You'd better not talk like that to Sibyl." 
 
 " Why, frankly, old man, I think that's your mistake. But you'll 
 tell me, and rightly enough, to mind my own business." 
 
 " Nonsense. What do you mean exactly ? You think I ought 
 to " 
 
i6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Hugh hesitated, with an air of uneasiness. 
 
 " Well," pursued his friend cautiously, " do you think it's right 
 to suppress your natural instincts ? Mightn't it give her a new in- 
 terest in life if she came round a little to your point of view ? " 
 
 " Queer thing, how unlike we are, isn't it ? " said Carnaby, with 
 a sudden drop of his tone to amiable ingenuousness. " But, you 
 know, we get along together very well." 
 
 " To be sure. Yet you are going to rust in the Riviera when 
 you want to be on the Himalayas. Wouldn't it do your wife good 
 to give up her books and her music for a while and taste fresh 
 air ? " 
 
 " I doubt if she's strong enough for it." 
 
 " It would make her stronger. And here's a good opportunity. 
 If you give up housekeeping (and housekeepers), why not reform 
 your life altogether ? Go and have a look at Australia." 
 
 " Sibyl hates the sea." 
 
 " She'd soon get over that. Seriously, you ought to think of it." 
 
 Carnaby set his lips and for a moment hung his head. 
 
 " You're quite right. But " 
 
 " A little pluck, old fellow.'' 
 
 " I'll see what can be done. Have another whisky ? " 
 
 They went out into the hall, where a dim light through coloured 
 glass illumined a statue in terra-cotta, some huge engravings, the 
 massive antlers of an elk; and furniture in carved oak. 
 
 " Queer feeling of emptiness,'' said Carnaby, subduing his voice. 
 " I feel as if they'd carried off everything, and left bare walls. 
 Sibyl couldn't stay in the place. Shall I whistle for a cab ? By 
 Jove ! that reminds me, the whistle has gone ; it happened to be 
 silver. A wedding present from that fool Benson, who broke his 
 neck in a steeplechase three weeks after.'' 
 
 Harvey laughed, and stepped out into the watery fog. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A CAB crawhngat the upper end of the terrace took him quickly 
 home. He entered with his latch-key as a church clock tolled one. 
 
 It was a large house, within a few minutes' walk of Royal Oak 
 Station. Having struck a match, and lit a candle which stood 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 17 
 
 upon the hall table (indicating that he was the last who would 
 enter to-night) Harvey put up the door-chain and turned the 
 great key, then went quietly upstairs. His rooms were on the first 
 floor. A tenancy of five years, with long absences, enabled him 
 to regard this niche in a characterless suburb as in some sort his 
 home ; a familiar smell of boolcs and tobacco welcomed him as he 
 opened the door ; remnants of a good fire kept the air warm, and 
 dispersed a pleasant glow. On shelves which almost concealed 
 the walls, stood a respectable collection of volumes, the lowest tier 
 consisting largely of what second-hand booksellers, when invited 
 to purchase, are wont to call " tomb-stones " — that is to say, old 
 folios, of no great market value, though good brains and infinite 
 labour went to the making of them. A great table, at one end of 
 which was a tray with glasses and a water-bottle, occupied the 
 middle of the floor ; nearer the fireplace was a small writing-desk. 
 For pictures little space could be found ; but over the mantelpiece 
 hung a fine water-colour, the flood of Tigris and the roofs of Bag- 
 dad burning in golden sunset. Harvey had bought it at the gallery 
 in Pall Mall not long ago ; the work of a man of whom he knew 
 nothing ; it represented the farthest point of his own travels, and 
 touched profoundly his vague historico-poetic sensibilities. 
 
 Three letters lay on the desk. As soon as he had lit his lamp, 
 and exchanged his boots for slippers, he looked at the envelopes, 
 and chose one addressed in a woman's hand. The writer was 
 Mrs. Bennet Frothingham. 
 
 " We have only just heard, from Mrs. Carnaby, that you are 
 back in town. Could you spare us to-morrow evening .'' It would 
 be so nice of you. The quartet will give Beethoven's F minor, 
 and Alma says it will be well done — the conceit of the child ! We 
 hope to have some interesting people. What a shocking affair of 
 poor Mrs. Carnaby's ! I never knew anything quite so bad. — Our 
 united kind regards." 
 
 Harvey thrust out his lips, in an ambiguous expression, as he 
 threw the sheet aside. He mused before opening the next letter. 
 This proved to be of startling contents : a few lines scribbled in- 
 formally, undated, without signature. A glance at the post-mark 
 discovered " Liverpool." ■"" 
 
 " The children are at my last address — you know it. I can do 
 no more for them. If the shabby Abbotts refuse — as I dare say 
 
l8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 they will — it wouldn't hurt you to keep them from the work- 
 house. But it's a devilish hard world, and they must take their 
 chance." 
 
 After a stare and a frown, Harvey woke the echoes with boister- 
 ous laughter. It was long since any passage in writing had so ir- 
 resistibly tickled his sense of humour. Well, he must let Abbott 
 know of this. It might be as well, perhaps, if he called on Mrs. 
 Abbott to-morrow, to remove any doubt that might remain in her 
 mind. The fellow Wager being an old acquaintance of his, he 
 could not get rid of a sense of far-off responsibility in this matter ; 
 though, happily. Wager's meeting with Mrs. Abbott's cousin, which 
 led to marriage and misery, came about quite independently of 
 him. 
 
 The last letter he opened without curiosity, but with quiet inter- 
 est and pleasure. It was dated from Greystone ; the writer, Basil 
 Morton, had a place in his earliest memories, for, as neighbours' 
 children, they had played together long before the grammar school 
 days which allied him with Hugh Carnaby. 
 
 " For aught I know," began Morton, " you may at this moment 
 be drifting on the Euphrates, or pondering on the site of Alexan- 
 dreia Eschate. It is you who owe me an account of yourself ; 
 nevertheless, I am prompted to write, if only to tell you that I have 
 just got the complete set of the Byzantine Historians. A catalogue 
 tempted me, and I did buy." 
 
 And so on in the same strain, until, in speaking of nearer mat- 
 ters, his style grew simpler. 
 
 " Our elder boy begins to put me in a difificulty. As I told you, 
 he has been brought up on the most orthodox lines of Anglicanism ; 
 his mother — best of mothers and best of wives, but in this respect 
 atavistic — has had a free hand, and I don't see how it could have 
 been otherwise. But now the lad begins to ask awkward questions, 
 and to put me in a corner ; the young rascal is a vigorous dialec- 
 tician and rationalist — odd result of such training. It becomes a 
 serious question how I am to behave. I cannot bear to distress his 
 mother, yet how can I tell him that I literally believe those quaint 
 old fables ? Solvetur vivendo, of course, like everything else, but 
 just now it worries me a little. Generally I can see a pretty clear 
 line of duty ; here the duty is divided, with a vengeance. Have 
 you any counsel .' " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 19 
 
 Harvey Rolfe mumbled impatiently ; all domestic matters were 
 a trial to his nerves. It seemed to him an act of unaccountable 
 folly to marry a woman from whom one differed diametrically on 
 subjects that lay at the root of life ; and of children he could hardly 
 bring himself to think at all, so exasperating the complication they 
 introduced into social .'problems which defied common sense. He 
 disliked children ; fled the sight and the sound of them in most 
 cases, and, when this was not possible, regarded them with appre- 
 hension, anxiety, weariness, anything but interest. In the perplex- 
 ity that had come upon him, Basil Morton seemed to have nothing 
 more than his deserts. " Best of mothers and of wives," forsooth ! 
 An excellent housekeeper, no doubt, but what shadow of qualifica- 
 tion for wifehood and motherhood in this year 1886 ? The whole 
 question was disgusting to a rational man— especially to that vig- 
 orous example of the class, by name Harvey Rolfe. 
 
 Late as it was, he did not care to go to bed. This morning he 
 had brought home a batch of books from the London Library, and 
 he began to turn them over, with the pleasure of anticipation. 
 Not seldom of late had Harvey flattered himself on the growth of 
 intellectual gusto which proceeded in him together with- a percep- 
 tible decline of baser appetites, so long his torment and his hin- 
 drance. His age was now seven and thirty ; at forty he might 
 hope to have utterly trodden under foot the instincts at war with 
 mental calm. He saw before him long years of congenial fellow- 
 ship, of bracing travel, of well-directed studiousness. Let prob- 
 lems of sex and society go hang ! He had found a better way. 
 
 On looking back over his life, how improbable it seemed, this 
 happy issue out of crudity, turbulence, lack of purpose, weakness, 
 insincerity, ignorance. First and foremost he had to thank good 
 old Dr. Harvey, of Greystone ; then, his sister, sleeping in her 
 grave under the old chimes she loved ; then, surely himself, that 
 seed of good within him which had survived all adverse influences 
 — watched, surely, by his unconscious self, guarded long, and now 
 deliberately nurtured. Might he not think well of himself ? 
 
 His library, though for the most part the purchase of late years, 
 contained books which reminded him of every period of his life. 
 Up yonder, on the top shelf, were two score volumes which had 
 belonged to his]^ father, the share that fell to him when he and his 
 sister made the ordained division : scientific treatises out of date, 
 
20 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 an old magazine, old books of travel. Strange that, in his times 
 of folly, he had not sold these as burdensome rubbish ; he was 
 very glad now, when love and reverence for things gone by began 
 to take hold upon him. There, at the same height, stood a rank 
 of school-books preserved for him by his sister till she died ; be- 
 side them, medical works, relics of his abortive study when he 
 was neither boy nor man. Descending, the eye fell upon yellow 
 and green covers, dozens of French novels, acquired at any time 
 from the year of his majority up to the other day ; in the mass, 
 they reminded him of a frothy season, when he boasted a cheap 
 Gallicism, and sneered at all things English. A sprinkling of 
 miscellaneous literature accounted for ten years or more when he 
 cared little to collect books, when the senses raged in him, and 
 only by miracle failed to hurl him down many a steep place. 
 Last came the serious acquisitions, the bulk of his library : solid 
 and expensive works — historians, archaeologists, travellers, with 
 noble volumes of engravings, and unwieldy tomes of antique lore. 
 Little enough of all this had Rolfe digested, but more and more 
 he loved to have erudition within his reach. He began to lack 
 room for comely storage ; already a large book-case had intruded 
 into his bedroom. If he continued to purchase, he must needs 
 house himself more amply ; yet he dreaded the thought of a 
 removal. 
 
 He knew enough and to spare of life in lodgings. His experi- 
 ence began when he came up as a lad to Guy's Hospital, when all 
 lodgings in London shone with the glorious light of liberty. It 
 took a wider scope when, having grasped his little patrimony, he 
 threw physic to the dogs, and lived as a gentleman at large. In 
 those days he grew familiar with many kinds of "apartments" 
 and their nomadic denizens. Having wasted his substance, he 
 found refuge in the office of an emigration agent, where, by slow 
 degrees, he proved himself worth a couple of hundred pounds per 
 annum. This was the " business " to which Hugh Carnaby 
 vaguely referred when people questioned him concerning his 
 friend's history. 
 
 Had he possessed the commercial spirit, Harvey might have 
 made his position in this office much more lucrative. Entering 
 nominally as a clerk, he undertook from the first a variety of duties 
 which could only be discharged by a man of special abilities ; for 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 21 
 
 instance, the literary revision of seductive pamphlets and broad- 
 sheets issued by his employer to the public contemplating emigra- 
 tion. These advertisements he presently composed, and, from the 
 point of view of effectiveness, did it remarkably well. How far 
 such work might be worthy of an honest man, was another ques- 
 tion, which for several years scarcely troubled his conscience. 
 Before long a use was found for his slender medical attainments ; 
 it became one of his functions to answer persons who visited the 
 office for information as to the climatic features of this or that 
 new country, and their physical fitness for going out as colonists. 
 Of course, there was demanded of him a radical unscrupulousneSs, 
 and often enough he proved equal to the occasion ; but as time 
 went on, bringing slow development of brain and character, he 
 found these personal interviews anything but agreeable. He had 
 constantly before him the spectacle of human misery and defeat, 
 now and then in such dread forms that his heart sank and his 
 tongue refused to lie. When disgust made him contemplate the 
 possibility of finding more honourable employment, the manifest 
 difficulties deterred him. 
 
 He held the place for nearly ten years, living in the end so so- 
 berly and frugally that his two hundred pounds seemed a consider- 
 able income ; it enabled him to spend his annual month of holiday 
 in continental travel, which now had a significance very different 
 from that of his truancies in France or Belgium before he began to 
 earn a livelihood. Two deaths, a year's interval between them, 
 released him from his office. Upon these events and their issue 
 he had not counted ; independence came to him as a great sur- 
 prise, and on the path of self-knowledge he had far to travel be- 
 fore the significance of that and many another turning-point grew 
 clear to his backward gaze. 
 
 Seeking for a comfortable abode, he discovered these rooms in 
 Bayswater. They were to let furnished, the house being occu- 
 pied by a widow not quite of the ordinary type of landlady, who 
 entertained only bachelors, and was fairly conscientious in the dis- 
 charge of her obligations. Six months later, during Harvey's ab- 
 sence abroad, this woman died, and on his return the house had 
 already been stripped of furniture. For a moment he inclined to 
 take a house of his own, but from this perilous experiment he was 
 saved by an intimation that, if he were willing to supply himself 
 
22 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 with furniture and service, an incoming tenant . would let him 
 occupy his old quarters. Harvey grasped at the offer. His land- 
 lord was a man named Buncombe, a truss manufacturer, who had 
 two children, and seemingly no wife. The topmost story Bun- 
 combe assigned to relatives of his own — a middle-aged woman, 
 Mrs. Handover, with a sickly grown-up son, who took some part 
 in the truss business. For a few weeks Rolfe was waited upon by 
 a charwoman, whom he paid extravagantly for a maximum of dirt 
 and discomfort ; then the unsatisfactory person fell ill, and, whilst 
 cursing his difficulties, Harvey was surprised by a visit from Mrs. 
 Handover, who made an unexpected suggestion — would Mr. Rolfe 
 accept her services in lieu of the charwoman's, paying her what- 
 ever he had been accustomed to give ? The proposal startled him. 
 Mrs. Handover seemed to belong pretty much to his own rank of 
 life ; he was appalled at the thought of bidding her scrub floors 
 and wash plates ; and indeed it had begun to dawn upon him that, 
 for a man with more than nine hundred a year, he was living in a 
 needlessly uncomfortable way. On his reply that he thought of 
 removing, Mrs. Handover fell into profound depression, and began 
 to disclose her history. Very early in life she had married a man 
 much beneath her in station, with the natural result. After some 
 years of quarrelling, which culminated in personal violence on her 
 husband's part, she obtained a judicial separation. For a long 
 time the man had ceased to send her money, and indeed he was 
 become a vagabond pauper, from whom nothing could be ob- 
 tained ; she depended upon her son, and on the kindness of Bun- 
 combe, who asked no rent. If she could earn a little money by 
 work, she would be much happier, and with tremulous hope she 
 had taken this step of appealing to her neighbour in the house. 
 
 Harvey could not resist these representations. When the new 
 arrangement had been in operation for a week or so, Harvey be- 
 gan to reflect upon Mrs. Handover's personal narrative, and in 
 some respects to modify his first impulsive judgment thereon. It 
 seemed to him not impossible that Mr. Handover's present condi- 
 tion of vagabond pauper might be traceable to his marriage with a 
 woman who had never learnt the elements of domestic duty. 
 Thoroughly well-meaning, Mrs. Handover was the most incompe- 
 tent of housewives. Yet such was Harvey Rolfe 's delicacy, and 
 so intense his moral cowardice, that year after year he bore with 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 23 
 
 Mrs. Handover's defects, and paid her with a smile the wages of 
 two first-rate servants. Dust lay thick about him ; he had grown 
 accustomed to it, as to many another form of sluttishness. After 
 all, he possessed a quiet retreat for studious hours, and a tolerable 
 sleeping-place, with the advantage of having his correspondence 
 forwarded to 'him when he chose to wander. To be sure, it was 
 not final ; one would not wish to grow old and die amid such sur- 
 roundings ; sooner or later circumstance would prompt the desir- 
 able change. Circumstance, at this stage of his career, was 
 Harvey's god ; he waited upon its direction with an air of wisdom, 
 of mature philosophy. 
 
 Of his landlord. Buncombe, he gradually learnt all that he cared 
 to know. The moment came when Buncombe grew confidential, 
 and he, too, had a matrimonial history to disclose. Poverty 
 played no part in it ; his business flourished, and Mrs. Buncombe, 
 throughout a cohabitation of five years, made no complaint of her 
 lot. All at once — so asserted Buncombe— the lady began to talk 
 of dulness ; for a few months she moped, then of a sudden left 
 home, and in a day or two announced by letter that she had taken 
 a place as barmaid at a music-hall. There followed an interview 
 between husband and wife, with the result, said Buncombe, that 
 they parted the best of friends, but with an understanding that 
 Mrs. Buncombe should be free to follow her own walk in life, with 
 a moderate allowance to supplement what she could earn. That 
 was five years ago. Mrs. Buncombe now sang at second-rate 
 halls, and enjoyed a certain popularity, which seemed to her an 
 ample justification of the independence she had claimed. She was 
 just thirty, tolerably good-looking, and full of the enjoyment of 
 life. Her children, originally left in the care of her mother, whom 
 Buncombe supported, were now looked after by the two servants 
 of the house, and Buncombe seemed to have no conscientious 
 troubles on that score ; to Harvey Rolfe's eye it was plain that the 
 brother and sister were growing up as vicious little savages, but 
 he permitted himself no remark on the subject. 
 
 After a few conversations, he gained an inkling of Buncombe's 
 motive in taking a house so much larger than he needed. This 
 magnificence was meant as an atttaction to the roaming wife, 
 whom, it was clear, Buncombe both wished and hoped to welcome 
 back before very long. She did occasionally visit the house. 
 
24 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 though only for an hour or two ; just to show, said Buncombe, 
 that there was no ill-feeling. On his part, evidently, there was 
 none whatever. An easy-going, simple-minded fellow, aged about 
 forty, with a boyish good-temper and no will to speak of, he 
 seemed never to entertain a doubt of his wife's honesty, and in 
 any case would probably have agreed, on the least persuasion, to 
 let bygones be bygones. He spoke rather proudly than otherwise 
 of Mrs. Buncombe's artistic success. 
 
 " It isn't every woman could have done it, you know, Mr. 
 Rolfe." 
 
 " It is not," Harvey assented. 
 
 Only those rooms were furnished which the little family used, 
 five or six in all ; two or three stood vacant, and served as play- 
 grounds for the children in bad weather. Of his relatives at the 
 top. Buncombe never spoke ; he either did not know, or viewed 
 with indifference, the fact that Mrs. Handover served his lodger in 
 a menial capacity. About once a month he invited three or four 
 male friends to a set dinner, and hilarity could be heard until long 
 after'midnight. Altogether it was a strange household, and, as he 
 walked about the streets of the neighbourhood, Harvey often won- 
 dered what abnormalities even more striking might be concealed 
 behind the meaningless uniformity of these heavily respectable 
 house fronts. As a lodger he was content to dwell here ; but 
 sometimes by a freak of imagination he pictured himself a married 
 man, imprisoned with wife and children amid these leagues of 
 dreary, inhospitable brickwork, and a great horror fell upon him. 
 
 No. In his time he had run through follies innumerable, but 
 from the supreme folly of hampering himself by marriage, a merci- 
 ful fate had guarded him. It was probably the most remarkable 
 fact of his life ; it heightened his self-esteem, and appeared to war- 
 rant him in the assurance that a destiny so protective would round 
 the close of his days with tranquillity and content. 
 
 Upon this thought he lay down to rest. For half-an-hour Basil 
 Morton's letter had occupied his mind : he had tried to think out 
 the problem it set forth, not to leave his friend quite unanswered ; 
 but weariness prevailed, and with it the old mood of self-congratu- 
 lation. 
 
 Next morning the weather was fine ; that is to say, one could 
 read without artificial light, and no rain fell, and far above the 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 25 
 
 house-tops appeared a bluish glimmer, shot now and then with 
 pale yellowness. Harvey decided to carry out his intention of 
 calling upon Mrs. Abbott. She lived at Kilburn, and thither he 
 drove shortly before twelve o'clock. He was admitted to a very 
 cosy room, where, amid books and pictures, and by a large fire, 
 the lady of the house sat reading. Whatever the cause, it seemed 
 to him that his welcome fell short of cordiality, and he hastened 
 to excuse himself for intruding at so early an hour. 
 
 " I received a letter last night which I thought you had better 
 know of without delay. " 
 
 " From that man— Mr. Wager ? " said Mrs. Abbott quickly and 
 hopefully, her face brightening. 
 
 " Yes. But there's nothing satisfactory in it. He writes from 
 Liverpool, and merely says that the children are at his lodgings, 
 and he can do no more for them." 
 
 Mrs. Abbott set her lips in an expression almost of sullenness. 
 Rolfe had never seen her look thus, but it confirmed a suspicion 
 which he had harboured concerning her. Why, he hardly knew — 
 for she always presented a face of amiability, and talked in gentle, 
 womanly tones — a doubt as to Abbott's domestic felicity haunted 
 his mind. Perhaps he now saw her, for the first time, as she 
 commonly appeared to her husband — slightly peevish, unwilling to 
 be disturbed, impatient when things did not run smoothly. 
 
 " You saw my husband yesterday ? " was her next remark, not 
 very graciously uttered. 
 
 " We met in the street last night — before I got Wager's letter. 
 He was suffering horribly from neuralgia." 
 
 Harvey could not forbear to add this detail, but he softened his 
 voice and smiled. 
 
 " I don't wonder at it," returned the lady ; "[he takes no care of 
 himself." 
 
 Harvey glanced about the room. Its furnishing might be 
 called luxurious, and the same standard of comfort prevailed 
 through the house. Considering that Edgar Abbott, as Rolfe 
 knew, married on small means, and that he had toiled unremit- 
 tingly to support a home in which he could seldom enjoy an hour's 
 leisure, there seemed no difficulty in explaining this neglect of his 
 own health. It struck the visitor that Mrs. Abbott might have 
 taken such considerations into account, and have spoken of the 
 
26 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 good fellow more sympathetically. In truth, Harvey did not quite 
 like Mrs. Abbott. Her age was about seven and twenty. She 
 came of poor folk, and had been a high-school teacher ; very clever 
 and successful, it was said, and Harvey could believe it. Her 
 features were regular, and did not lack sweetness ; yet, unless an 
 observer were mistaken, the last year or two had emphasised a 
 certain air of conscious superiority, perchance originating in the 
 schoolroom. She had had one child ; it struggled through a few 
 months of sickly life, and died of convulsions during its mother's 
 absence at a garden-party. To all appearances, her grief at the 
 loss betokened tenderest feeling. When, in half a year's time, 
 she again came forth into the world, a change was noted : her 
 character seemed to have developed a new energy, she exhibited 
 wider interests, and stepped from the background to become a 
 leader in the little circle of her acquaintances. 
 
 " Have you read this ? " asked his hostess abruptly, holding up 
 to him a French volume, Ribot's L'Heridite Psychologique. 
 
 " No. That kind of thing doesn't interest me much." 
 
 " Indeed ! I find it intensely interesting. '' 
 
 Harvey rose ; he was in no mood for this kind of small talk. 
 But no sooner had he quitted his chair, than Mrs. Abbott threw 
 her book aside, and spoke in another tone, seriously, though still 
 with a perceptible accent of annoyance. 
 
 " Of course that man's children are here, and I suppose it is our 
 duty to provide for them till some other arrangement is made. 
 But I think we ought to put the matter in the hands of the police. 
 Don't you, Mr. Rolfe ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid there's small chance of making their father support 
 them. He is certainly out of England by now, and won't easily 
 be caught." 
 
 " The worst of it is, they are anything but nice children. What 
 could one expect with such a father ? Since their poor mother 
 died, they have been in the hands of horrible people — low-class 
 landladies, no doubt ; their talk shocks me. The last amusement 
 they had, was to be taken by somebody to Tussaud's, and now they 
 can talk of nothing but ' the hunted murderer ' — one sees it on the 
 walls, you know ; and they play at being murderer and policeman, 
 one trying to escape the other. Pretty play for children of five 
 and seven, isn't it ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 27 
 
 Rolfe made a gesture of disgust. 
 
 " I know the poor things can't help it," pursued Mrs. Abbott, 
 with softer feeling, " but it turns me against them. From seeing 
 so little of their father, they have even come to talk with a vulgar 
 pronunciation, like children out of the streets — almost. It's dread- 
 ful ! When I think of my cousin — such a sweet, good girl, and 
 these her children — oh, it's horrible ! " 
 
 " They are very young," said Harvey, in a low voice, perturbed 
 in spite of himself. " With good training " 
 
 " Yes, of course we must put them in good hands Somewhere." 
 
 Plainly it had never occurred to Mrs. Abbott that such a task as 
 this might, even temporarily, be undertaken by herself ; her one 
 desire was to get rid of the luckless brats, that their vulgarity 
 might not pain her, and the care of them encumber her polite 
 leisure. 
 
 After again excusing himself for this call, and hearing his 
 apology this time more graciously received, Harvey withdrew 
 from the cosy study, and left Mrs. Abbott to her Hdrddtti Psycho- 
 logique. On his way to lunch in town, he thought of the over- 
 worn journalist groaning with neuralgia, and wondered how Mrs. 
 Abbott would relish a removal to the town of Waterbury. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Uncertain to the last moment, Harvey did at length hurry 
 into his dress clothes, and start for Fitzjohn Avenue. He had little 
 mind for the semi-fashionable crowd and the amateur music, but 
 he could not answer Mrs. Bennet Frothingham with any valid 
 excuse, and, after all, she meant kindly towards him. Why he 
 enjoyed so much of this lady's favour it was not easy to under- 
 stand ; intellectual sympathy there could be none between them, 
 and as for personal liking, on his side it did not go beyond that 
 naturally excited by a good-natured, feather-brained, rather pretty 
 woman, whose sprightliness never passed the limits of decorum, 
 and who seemed to have better qualities than found scope in her 
 butterfly existence. Perhaps he amused her, being so unlike the 
 kind of man she was accustomed to see. His acquaintance with 
 
28 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 the family dated from their social palingenesis, when, after obscure 
 prosperity in a southern suburb, they fluttered to the northern 
 heights, and were observed of the paragraphists. Long before 
 that, Bennet Frothingham had been known in the money-market; 
 it was the "Britannia ' — Loan, Assurance, Investment, and 
 Banking Company, Limited — that made him nationally prominent, 
 and gave an opportunity to his wife (in second marriage) and his 
 daughter (by the first). Three years ago, when Carnaby (already 
 lured by the charms of Sibyl Larkfield) presented his friend Rolfe 
 as "the man who had been to Bagdad," Alma Frothingham, not 
 quite twenty-one, was studying at the Royal Academy of Music, 
 and, according to her friends, promised to excel alike on the piano 
 and the violin, having at the same time a " really remarkable '' con- 
 tralto voice. Of late the young lady had abandoned singing, rarely 
 used the pianoforte, and seemed satisfied to achieve distinction as 
 a violinist. She had founded an Amateur Quartet Society, whose 
 performances were frequently to be heard at the house in Fitzjohn 
 Avenue. 
 
 Last winter Harvey had chanced to meet Alma and her step- 
 mother at Leipzig, at a Gewandhaus concert. He was invited to 
 go with them to hear the boys' motet at the Thomaskirche ; and 
 with this intercourse began the change in their relations from mere 
 acquaintance to something like friendship. Through the following 
 spring Rolfe was a familiar figure at the Frothinghams' ; but this 
 form of pleasure soon wearied him, and he was glad to escape 
 from London in June. He knew the shadowy and intermittent 
 temptation which beckoned him to that house ; music had power 
 over him, and he grew conscious of watching Alma Frothingham, 
 her white little chin on the brown fiddle, with too exclusive an in- 
 terest. When " that fellow " Cyrus Redgrave, a millionaire or 
 something of the sort, began to attend these gatherings with a like 
 assiduity, and to win more than his share of Miss Frothingham's 
 conversation, Harvey felt a disquietude which happily took the 
 form of disgust, and it was easy enough to pack his portmanteau. 
 
 Through the babble of many voices in many keys, talk min- 
 gling with laughter more or less melodiously subdued, he made his 
 way up the great staircase. As he neared the landing, there 
 sounded the shrill squeak of a violin and a 'cello's deep harmonic 
 growl. His hostess, small, slender, fair and not yet forty, a jewel- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 29 
 
 flash upon her throat and in the tiara above her smooth low fore- 
 head, took a step forward to greet him. 
 
 " Really ? How delightful ! I shot at a venture, and it was a 
 hit after all ! " 
 
 " They are just beginning ? " 
 
 " The quartet — yes. Herr Wilenski has promised to play after- 
 wards.'' 
 
 He moved on, crossed a small drawing-room, entered the larger 
 room sacred to music, and reached a seat in the nick of time. 
 Miss Frothingham, the violin against her shoulder, was casting a 
 final glance at the assembly, the glance which could convey a 
 noble severity when it did not forthwith impose silence. A mo- 
 ment's perfect stillness, and the quartet began. There were two 
 ladies, two men. Miss Frothingham played the first violin, Mr. 
 jEneas Piper the second ; the 'cello was in the hands of Herr 
 Gassner, and the viola yielded its tones to Miss Dora Leach. 
 Harvey knew them all, but had eyes only for one ; in truth, only 
 one rewarded observation. Miss Leach was a meagre blonde, 
 whose form, face, and attitude enhanced by contrast the graces of 
 the First Violin. Alma's countenance shone — possibly with the 
 joy of the artist, perhaps only with gratified vanity. As she grew 
 warm, the rosy blood mantled in her cheeks and flushed her neck. 
 Every muscle and nerve tense as the strings from which she 
 struck music, she presently swayed forward on the points of her 
 feet, and seemed to gain in stature, to become of more command- 
 ing type. Her features suggested neither force of intellect nor 
 originality of character : but they had beauty, and something 
 more. She stood a fascination, an allurement, to the masculine 
 sense. Harvey Rolfe had never so responded to this quality in 
 the girl ; the smile died from his face as he regarded her. Of her 
 skill as a musician, he could form no judgment ; but it seemed to 
 him that she played very well, and he had heard her praised by 
 people who understood the matter ; for instance, Herr Wilenski, 
 the virtuoso, from whom — in itself a great compliment — Alma was 
 having lessons. 
 
 He averted his eyes, and began to seek for known faces among 
 the audience. His host he could not discover; Mr. Frothingham 
 must be away from home this evening ; it was seldom he failed to 
 attend Alma's concerts. But near the front sat Mrs. Ascott Lark- 
 
30 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 field, a dazzling figure, and, at some distance, her daughter Mrs. 
 Carnaby, no shadow of gloom upon her handsome features. 
 Hugh was not in sight ; probably he felt in no mood for parties. 
 Next to Mrs. Carnaby sat " that fellow," Cyrus Redgrave, smiling 
 as always, and surveying the people near him from under droop- 
 ing brows, his head slightly bent. Mr. Redgrave had thin hair, 
 but a robust moustache and a short peaked beard ; his complex- 
 ion was a trifle sallow ; he lolled upon the chair, so that, at mo- 
 ments, his head all but brushed Mrs. Carnaby's shoulder. 
 
 Long before the close of the piece, Rolfe had ceased to listen, 
 his thoughts drifting hither and thither on a turbid flood of 
 emotion. During the last passage — allegro molio leggieramente 
 — he felt a movement round about him as of general relief, and 
 when, on the last note, there broke forth (familiar ambiguity) 
 sounds of pleasure and of applause, he at once stood up. But he 
 had no intention of pressing into the throng that rapidly sur- 
 rounded the musicians. Seeing that Mr. Redgrave had vacated 
 his place, whilst Mrs. Carnaby remained seated, he stepped for- 
 ward to speak with his friend's wife. She smiled up at him, and 
 lifted a gloved finger. 
 
 " No ! Please don't ! " 
 
 " Not sit down by you ? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly. But I saw condolence in your face, and I'm 
 tired of it. Besides, it would be mere hypocrisy in you." 
 
 Harvey gave a silent laugh. He had tried to understand Sibyl 
 Carnaby, and at different times had come to very different conclu- 
 sions regarding her. All women puzzled, and often disconcerted, 
 him ; with Sybil he could never talk freely, knowing not whether 
 to dislike or to admire her. He was not made on the pattern of 
 Cyrus Redgrave, who probably viewed womankind with instinctive 
 contempt, yet pleased all with the flattery of his homage. 
 
 " Well, then, we won't talk of it," he said, noticing, in the same 
 moment, that her person did not lack the adornment of jewels. 
 Perhaps she had happened to be wearing these things on the 
 evening of the robbery ; but Rolfe felt a conviction that, under 
 any circumstances, Sibyl would not be without rings and brace- 
 lets. 
 
 " They certainly improve," she remarked, indicating the quartet 
 with the tip of her fan. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 31 
 
 Her opinions were uttered with calm assurance, whatever the 
 subject. An infinite self-esteem, so placid that it never suggested 
 the vulgarity of conceit, shone in her large eyes and dwelt upon 
 the beautiful curve of her lips. No face could be of purer outline, 
 of less sensual suggestiveness ; it wore at times an air of cold ab- 
 straction which was all but austerity. Rolfe imagined her the 
 most selfish of women, thought her incapable of sentiment ; yet 
 how was her marriage to be accounted for, save by supposing 
 that she fell in love with Hugh Carnaby ? Such a woman might 
 surely have sold herself to great advantage ; and yet — odd incon- 
 gruity — she did not impress one as socially ambitious. Her 
 mother, the ever youthful widow, sped from assembly to assembly, 
 unable to live save in the whirl of fashion ; not so Sybil. Was 
 she too proud, too self-centred ? And what ambition did she 
 nourish .' 
 
 Or was it all an illusion of the senses ? Suppose her a mere 
 graven image, hollow, void. Call her merely a handsome woman, 
 with the face of some remarkable ancestress, with just enough of 
 warmth to be subdued by the vigorous passion of such a fine 
 fellow as Carnaby. On thS whole, Rolfe preferred this hypothesis. 
 He had never heard her say anything really bright, or witty, or 
 significant. But Hugh spoke of her fine qualities of head and 
 heart ; Alma Frothingham made her an exemplar, and would not 
 one woman see through the vacuous pretentiousness of another ? 
 
 Involuntarily, he was gazing at her, trying to read her face. 
 
 " So you think we ought to go to Australia," said Sybil quietly, 
 returning his look. 
 
 Hugh had repeated the conversation of last night ; indiscreet, 
 but natural. One could not suppose that Hugh kept many 
 secrets from his wife. 
 
 " I ? " He was confused. " Oh, we were talking about the mis- 
 eries of housekeeping " 
 
 " I hate the name of those new countries." 
 
 It was said smilingly, but with what expression in the word 
 " hate " ! 
 
 " Vigorous cuttings from the old tree,'' said Rolfe. " There is 
 England's future." 
 
 " Perhaps so. At present they are barbarous, and I have a de- 
 cided preference for civilisation. So have you, I am quite sure. '' 
 
32 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Rolfe murmured his assent ; whereupon Sibyl rose, just bent 
 her head to him, and moved with graceful indolence away. 
 
 " Now she hates me," Harvey said in his mind ; "and much I 
 care ! " 
 
 As a matter of courtesy, he thought it well to move in Miss 
 Frothinghani's direction. The crowd was thinning; without diffi- 
 culty he approached to within a few yards of her, and there ex- 
 changed a word or two with the player of the viola, Miss Leach — 
 a good, ingenuous creature, he had always thought ; dangerous to 
 no man's peace, but rather sentimental, and on that account to be 
 avoided. Whilst talking, he heard a man's voice behind him, pre- 
 tentious, coarse, laying down the law in a musical discussion. 
 
 " No, no ; Beethoven is not Klaviertiidszig . His thoughts are 
 symphonic — they need the orchestra. ... A string quartet is to 
 a symphony what a delicate water-colour is to an oil-painting. . . . 
 Oh, I don't care for his playing at all ! he has not — what shall I 
 call it ? — no Sehnsucht." 
 
 Rolfe turned at length to look. A glance showed him a tall, 
 bony young man, with a great deal of disorderly hair, and a shaven 
 face ; harsh-featured, sensual, utterly lacking refinement. He in- 
 quired of Miss Leach, who this might be, and learnt that the man's 
 name was Felix Dymes. 
 
 " Isn't he a humbug .' " 
 
 The young lady was pained and shocked. 
 
 " Oh, he is very clever," she whispered. " He has composed a 
 most beautiful song — don't you know it .?— ' Margot." It's very 
 likely that Topham may sing it at one of the Ballad Concerts." 
 
 " Now I've offended her," said Rolfe to himself. " No matter." 
 
 Seeing his opportunity, he took a few steps, and stood before 
 Alma Frothingham. She received him very graciously, looking 
 him straight in the face, with that amused smile which he could never 
 interpret. Did it mean that she thought him " good fun " ? Had 
 she discussed him with Sibyl Carnaby, and heard things of him 
 that moved her mirth .? Or was it pure good-nature, the overflow- 
 ing spirits of a vivacious girl ? 
 
 " So good of you to come, Mr. Rolfe. And what did you think 
 of us? " 
 
 This was characteristic. Alma delighted in praise, and never 
 hesitated to ask for it. She hung eagerly upon his unready words. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 33 
 
 " I only show my ignorance when I talk of music. Of course, 
 I liked it." 
 
 " Ah ! then you didn't think it very good. I see " 
 
 " But I did ! Only my opinion is worthless.'' 
 
 Alma looked at him, seemed to hesitate, laughed ; and Harvey 
 felt the conviction that, by absurd sincerity, he had damaged himself 
 in the girl's eyes. What did it matter ? 
 
 " I've been practising five hours a day," said Alma, in rapid, 
 ardent tones. Her voice was as pleasant to the ear as her face to 
 look upon ; richly feminine, a call to the emotions. " That isn't 
 bad, is it ? " 
 
 " Tremendous energy ! " 
 
 " Oh, music is my religion, you know. I often feel sorry 1 
 haven't to get my living by it ; it's rather wretched to be only an 
 amateur, don't you think ? " 
 
 " Religion shouldn't be marketable," joked Harvey. 
 
 " Oh, but you know what I mean. You are so critical, Mr. 
 Rolfe. I've a good mind to ask father to turn me out of house 
 and home, with just half-a-crown. Then I might really do some- 
 thing. It would be splendid I — Oh, what do you think of that 
 shameful affair in Hamilton Terrace ? Mrs. Carnaby takes it like 
 an angel. They're going to give up housekeeping. Very sensible, 
 I say. Everybody will do it before long. Why should we be 
 plagued with private houses ? " 
 
 " There are difficulties " 
 
 " Of course there are, and men seem to enjoy pointing them 
 out. They think it a crime if women hate the bother and misery 
 of housekeeping." 
 
 "I am not so conservative." 
 
 He tried to meet her eyes, which were gleaming fixedly upon 
 him ; but his look fell, and turned as quickly from the wonderful 
 white shoulders, the throbbing throat, the neck that showed its 
 colour against swan's-down. To his profound annoyance, some 
 one intervened — a lady bringing some one else to be introduced. 
 Rolfe turned on his heel, and was face to face with Cyrus Red- 
 grave. Nothing could be suaver or more civil than Mr. Redgrave's 
 accost ; he spoke like a polished gentleman, and, for aught Harvey 
 knew, did not misrepresent himself. But Rolfe had a prejudice ; 
 he said as little as possible, and moved on. 
 
34 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 In the smaller drawing-room he presently conversed with his 
 hostess. Mrs. Frothingham's sanguine and buoyant temper 
 seemed proof against fatigue ; at home or as a guest she wore the 
 same look of enjoyment ; vexations, rivalries, responsibilities, left 
 no trace upon her beaming countenance. Her affectations were 
 numberless ; her ignorance, as an observer easily discovered, was 
 vast and profound ; but the desire to please, the tact of a gentle- 
 woman, and thorough goodness of heart, appeared in all her say- 
 ings and doings ; she was never offensive, never wholly ridiculous. 
 Small-talk flowed from her with astonishing volubility, tone and 
 subject dictated by the characteristics of the person with whom she 
 gossiped ; yet her preference was for talk on homely topics, and 
 she had more than once amused Rolfe by her frank reminiscences 
 of a time when she knew not luxury. " You may not believe it," 
 she said to him in a moment of confidence, " but I assure you I 
 am a very good cook." Rolfe did not quite credit the assurance, 
 but he felt it not improbable that Mrs. Frothingham would accept 
 a reverse of fortune with much practical philosophy ; he could im- 
 agine her brightening a small house with the sweetness of her dis- 
 position, and falling to humble duties with sprightly good-will. In 
 this point she was a noteworthy exception among the prosperous 
 women of his acquaintance. 
 
 " And what have you been doing ? " she asked, not as a mere 
 phrase of civility, but in a voice and with a look of genuine in- 
 terest. 
 
 " Wasting my time, for the most part." 
 
 " So you always say ; but it can't be true. I know the kind of 
 man who wastes his time, and you're not a bit like him. Nothing 
 would gratify my curiosity more than to be able to watch you 
 through a whole day. What did you think of the quartet ? " 
 
 " Capital ! " 
 
 " I'm sure they make wonderful progress, and Alma does work 
 so hard ! I'm only afraid she may injure her health.'' 
 
 " I see no sign of it yet." 
 
 " She's certainly looking very well," said Mrs. Frothingham, with 
 manifest pride and affection. Of Alma she always spoke thus ; 
 nothing of the step-mother was ever observable. 
 
 " Mr. Frothingham is not here this evening ? " 
 
 " I really don't know why," replied the hostess, casting her eyes 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 35 
 
 round the room. " I quite expected him. But he has been dread- 
 fully busy the last few weeks. And people do worry him so. 
 Somebody called whilst we were at dinner, and refused to believe 
 that Mr. Frothingham was not at home, and made quite a distur- 
 bance at the door— so they told me afterwards. I'm really quite 
 nervous sometimes ; crazy people are always wanting to see him 
 —people who really ought not to be at large. No doubt they 
 have had their troubles, poor things ; and everybody thinks my 
 husband can make them rich if only he chooses." 
 
 A stout, important-looking man paused before Mrs. Frothing- 
 ham, and spoke familiarly. 
 
 " I'm looking for B. F. Hasn't he put in an appearance yet ? " 
 
 " I really hope he's enjoying himself somewhere else," replied 
 the hostess, rising, with a laugh. " You leave him no peace." 
 
 The stout man did not smile, but looked gravely for a moment 
 at Rolfe, a stranger to him, and turned away. 
 
 Herr Wilenski, the virtuoso, was about to play something ; the 
 guests moved to seat themselves. Rolfe, however, preferred to 
 remain in this room, where he could hear the music sufficiently 
 well. He had not quite recovered from his chagrin at the inter- 
 ruption of his talk with Alma — a foolishness which made him im- 
 patient with himself. At the same time, he kept thinking of the 
 "crazy people ■■ of whom Mrs. Frothingham spoke so lightly. A 
 man such as Bennet Frothingham must become familiar with 
 many forms of " craziness," must himself be responsible foragood 
 deal of folly such as leads to downright aberration. Recalling 
 Mrs. Frothingham's innocent curiosity concerning his own life, 
 Harvey wished, in turn, that it were possible for him to watch and 
 comprehend the business of a great finance-gambler through one 
 whole day. What monstrous cruelties and mendacities might 
 underlie the surface of this gay and melodious existence ! Why 
 was the stout man looking for "B. F."? Why did he turn away 
 with such a set countenance ? Why was that old bore at the club 
 in such a fidget about the " Britannia " ? 
 
 Ha ! There indeed sounded the violin ! It needed no technical 
 intelligence to distinguish between the playing of a Wilenski and 
 that of Alma Frothingham. Her religion, forsooth ! Herr Wilen- 
 ski, one might be sure, talked little enough about his " religion.'' 
 What did Alma think as she listened } Was she overcome by the 
 
36 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 despair of the artist-soul struggling in its immaturity ? Or did 
 she smile, as ever, and congratulate herself on the five hours a day, 
 and tell herself how soon she would reach perfection if there were 
 real necessity for it ? Hopeless to comprehend a woman. The 
 senses warred upon the wit ; seized by calenture, one saw through 
 radiant mists. 
 
 He did not like the name " Alma.'' It had a theatrical sound, 
 a suggestion of unreality. 
 
 The maestro knew his audience ; he played but for a quarter of 
 an hour, and the babble of tongues began again. Rolfe, saunter- 
 ing before the admirable pictures which hung here as a mere sym- 
 bol of wealth, heard a voice at his shoulder. 
 
 " I'm very thirsty. Will you take me down ? " 
 
 His heart leapt with pleasure ; Alma must have seen it in his 
 eyes as he turned. 
 
 " What did Wilenski play ? " he asked confusedly, as they 
 moved towards the staircase. 
 
 " Something of Grieg's. Mr. Wilbraham is going to sing ' Wie 
 bist du, meine Koniginn ' — Brahms, you know. But you don't 
 really care for music." 
 
 " What an astounding accusation ! " 
 
 " You don't really care for it. I've known that since we were at 
 Leipzig." 
 
 " I have never pretended to appreciate music as you do. That 
 needs education, and something more. Some music wearies me, 
 there's no denying it.'' 
 
 " You like the Melody in F ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 Alma laughed, with superiority, but not ill-naturedly. 
 
 " And I think it detestable — but of course that doesn't matter. 
 When I talk about books you think me a nincompoop. — That 
 word used to amuse me so when I was a child. I remember 
 laughing wildly whenever I saw or heard it. It is a funny word, 
 isn't it? " 
 
 " The last I should apply to you,'' said Rolfe in an absent 
 undertone, as he caught a glimpse of the white teeth between her 
 laughing lips. 
 
 They entered the supper-room, where as yet only a few people 
 were refreshing themselves. Provisions for a regiment spread be- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL y] 
 
 fore the gaze ; delicacies innumerable invited the palate : this 
 house was famed for its hospitable abundance. Alma, having 
 asked her companion to get her some lemonade, talked awhile 
 with two ladies who had begun to eat and drink in a serious spirit ; 
 waiting for her, Rolfe swallowed two glasses of wine to counteract 
 a certain dulness and literalness which were wont to possess him 
 in such company. 
 
 " I won't sit down," she said. " No, thanks, nothing to eat. I 
 wonder where papa is ? Now, he enjoys music, though he is no 
 musician. I think' papa a wonderful man. For years he has 
 never had more than six hours sleep ; and the work he does ! He 
 can't take a holiday ; idleness makes him ill. We were down in 
 Hampshire in July with some relatives of mamfna's — the quietest, 
 sleepiest village — and papa tried to spend a few days with us, but 
 he had to take to flight ; he would have perished of ennui.'' 
 
 " Life at high pressure," remarked Rolfe, as the least offensive 
 comment he could make. 
 
 " Yes ; and isn't it better than life at low ? " exclaimed the girl, 
 with animation. " Most people go through existence without once 
 exerting all the powers that are in them. I should hate to die 
 with the thought that I hadn't really lived myself out. A year ago 
 papa took me into the City to see the offices of Stock and Share, 
 just after the paper started. It didn't interest me very much ; but 
 I pretended it did, because papa always takes an interest in my 
 affairs. But I found there was something else. After we had 
 seen the printing machinery, and so on, he took me up to the top 
 of the building into a small room, where there was just a table and 
 a chair and a bookshelf ; and he told me it was his first office, the 
 room in which he had begun business thirty years ago. He has 
 always kept it for his own, and just as it was— a fancy of his. 
 There's no harm in my telling you ; he's very proud of it, and so 
 am I. That's energy ! " 
 " Very interesting indeed." 
 
 " I must go up again," she added quickly. " Oh, there's Miss 
 Beaufoy ; do let me introduce you to Miss Beaufoy." 
 
 She did so, unaware of Rolfe's groaning reluctance, and at once 
 disappeared. 
 
 The supper-room began to fill. As soon as he could escape from 
 Miss Beaufoy, who had a cavalier of her own, Harvey ascended 
 
38 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 the stairs again, and found a quiet corner, where he sat for a 
 quarter of an hour undisturbed. Couples and groups paused to 
 talk near him, and whenever he caught a sentence it was the 
 merest chatter, meaningless repetition of commonplaces which, 
 but for habit, must have been an unutterable weariness to the least 
 intelligent of mortals. He was resolved never to come here 
 again ; never again to upset his peace of mind and sully his self- 
 respect by grimacing amid such a crowd. He enjoyed human 
 fellowship, timely merry-making ; but to throng one's house with 
 people for whom, with one or two exceptions, one cared not a 
 snap of the fingers, what was this but sheer vulgarism ? As for 
 Alma Frothingham, long ago he had made up his mind about her. 
 Naturally, inevitably, she absorbed the vulgarity of her atmos- 
 phere. All she did was for effect : it was her cue to pose as the 
 artist ; she would keep it up through life, and breathe her last, 
 amid perfumes, declaring that she had " lived herself out.'' 
 
 In his peevishness he noticed that women came up from supper 
 with flushed cheeks and eyes unnaturally lustrous. What a 
 grossly sensual life was masked by their airs and graces ! He 
 had half a mind to start to-morrow for the Syrian deserts. 
 
 " Do let us see you again soon,'' said his hostess, as he took 
 leave of her. " Come in at five o'clock on Wednesday, that's our 
 quiet day ; only a few of our real friends. We shall be in town 
 till Christmas, for certain." 
 
 On the stairs he passed Mr. Felix Dymes, the composer of 
 " Margot." 
 
 " Oh, it's the easiest thing in the world," Mr. Dymes was say- 
 ing, " to compose a song that will be popular. I'll give you the 
 recipe, and charge nothing. You must have a sudden change to 
 the minor, and a waltz refrain— that's all. Oh yes, there's money 
 in it. I know a man who " 
 
 Rolfe had never left the house in such a bad temper. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 39 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Wh£n he awoke next morning, the weather was so gloomy 
 that he seriously resumed his thought of getting away from Lon- 
 don, Why, indeed, did he make London his home, when it would 
 be easy to live in places vastly more interesting, and under a pure 
 sky? He was a citizen of no city at all, and had less desire than 
 ever to bind himself to a permanent habitation. All very well so 
 long as he kept among his male friends, at the club and elsewhere ; 
 but this "society" played the deuce with him, and he had not the 
 common sense, the force of resolve, to keep out of it altogether. 
 
 Well, he must go to his bank this morning, to draw cash. 
 
 It was about twelve o'clock when he stood at the counter, wait- 
 ing with his cheque. The man before him talked with the teller. 
 
 " Do you know that the ' Britannia ' has shut up } " 
 
 " The bank ? No ! " 
 
 " But it has. I passed just now, and there were a lot of people 
 standing about. Closed at half-past eleven, they say.'' 
 
 Harvey had a singular sensation, a tremor at his heart, a flutter 
 of the pulses, a turning cold and hot ; then he was quite calm 
 again, and said to himself, " Of course.'' For a minute or two the 
 quiet routine of the bank was suspended ; the news passed from 
 mouth to mouth ; new-comers swelled a gossiping group in front 
 of the counter, and Harvey listened. The general tone was cyni- 
 cal ; there sounded scarcely a note of indignation ; no one present 
 seemed to be personally affected by the disaster. The name of 
 Bennet Frothingham was frequently pronounced, with unflattering 
 comments. 
 
 " Somebody '11 get it hot,'' remarked one of the speakers; and 
 the others laughed. 
 
 Rolfe, having transacted his business, walked away. It struck 
 him that he would go and look at the closed bank, but he did not 
 remember the address ; a policeman directed him, and he walked 
 on, the distance not being very great. At the end of the street in 
 which the building stood, signs of the unusual became observable 
 — the outskirts of a crowd, hanging loose in animated talk, as 
 after some exciting occurrence ; and before the bank itself was 
 
40 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 gathered a throng of men, respectability's silk hats mingling with 
 the felts and caps of lower strata. Here and there a voice could 
 be heard raised in anger, but the prevailing emotion seemed to be 
 mere curiosity. The people who would suffer most from the col- 
 lapse of this high-sounding enterprise could not reach the scene of 
 calamity at half-an-hour's notice ; they were dwellers in many 
 parts of the British Isles, strangers most of them to London city, 
 with but a vague mental picture of the local habitation of the 
 Britannia Loan, Assurance, Investment, and Banking Company, 
 Limited. 
 
 His arm was seized and a voice said hoarsely in his ear — 
 
 " By God ! too late." 
 
 Hugh Carnaby had tumbled out of a cab, and saw his friend in 
 the same moment that he got near enough to perceive that the 
 doors of the bank were shut. 
 
 " The thieves have lost no time," he added, pale with fury. 
 
 " You had warning of it ? " 
 
 Hugh pulled him a few yards away, and whispered — 
 
 " Bennet Frothingham shot himself last night." 
 
 Again Harvey experienced that disagreeable heart-shock, with 
 the alternation of hot and cold. 
 
 " Where ? At home ? " 
 
 " At the office of Stock and Share. Come further away. It'll 
 be in the evening papers directly, but I don't want those black- 
 guards to hear me. I got up late this morning, and as I was hav- 
 ing breakfast, Sibyl rushed in. She brought the news ; had it 
 from some friend of her mother's, a man connected somehow with 
 S/ock and Share. I thought they would shut up shop, and came 
 to try and save Sibyl's balance— a couple of hundred, that's all — 
 but they've swallowed it with the rest." 
 
 " With the rest } " 
 
 Hugh laughed mockingly. 
 
 " Of hers. Devilish bad luck Sibyl has. It was just a toss-up 
 that a good deal of my own wasn't in, one way or another." 
 
 " Do you know any more about Frothingham } " 
 
 " No. Only the fact. Don't know when it was, or when it got 
 known. We shall have it from the papers presently. I think 
 every penny Mrs. Larkfield had was in." 
 
 " But it may not mean absolute ruin," urged Harvey. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 41 
 
 " I know what to think when B. F. commits suicide. We shall 
 hear that some of the others have bolted. It'll be as clean a 
 sweep as our housekeeper's little job.'' 
 
 " I've had queer presentiments," Harvey murmured. 
 
 " Why, damn it, so have I ! So had lots of people. But no- 
 body ever does anything till it's too late. I must get home again 
 with my agreeable news. You'll be going to the club, I dare say ? 
 They'll have plenty to talk about for the next month or two.'' 
 
 " Try to come round to-night to my place." 
 
 " Perhaps. It depends on fifty chances. There's only one 
 thing I know for certain — that I shall get out of this cursed coun- 
 try as soon as possible." 
 
 They parted, and Harvey walked westward. He had no reason 
 for hurry ; as usual, the tumult of the world's business passed him 
 by ; he was merely a looker-on. It occurred to him that it might 
 be a refreshing and a salutary change if for once he found him- 
 self involved in the anxieties to which other men were subject ; 
 this long exemption and security fostered a too exclusive regard 
 of self, an inaptitude for sympathetic emotion, which he recognised 
 as the defect of his character. This morning's events had startled 
 him, and given a shock to his imagination ; but already he viewed 
 them and their consequences with a self-possession which differed 
 little from unconcern. Bennet Frothingham, no doubt, had played 
 a rascally game, foreseeing all along the issues of defeat. As to 
 his wife and daughter, it would be strange if they were not pro- 
 vided for ; suffer who might, they would probably live on in mate- 
 rial comfort, and nowadays that was the first consideration. He 
 was surprised that their calamity left him so unmoved ; it showed 
 conclusively how artificial were his relations with these persons ; in 
 no sense did he belong to their world ; for all his foolish fiutterings, 
 Alma Frothingham remained a stranger to him, alien from every 
 point of view, personal, intellectual, social. And how many of the 
 people who crowded to her concert last night would hear the news 
 this morning with genuine distress on her account? Gratified 
 envy would be the prevailing mood, with rancorous hostility in the 
 minds of those who were losers by Bennet Frothingham's knavery 
 or ill-fortune. Hugh Carnaby's position called for no lament ; he 
 had a sufficient income of his own, and would now easily over- 
 come his wife's pernicious influence; with or without her, he 
 
42 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 would break away from a life of corrupting indolence, and some- 
 where beyond seas " beat the British drum " — use his superabun- 
 dant vitality as nature prompted. 
 
 After all, it promised to clear the air. These explosions were 
 periodic, inevitable, wholesome. The Britannia Loan, &c., &c., 
 &c., had run its pestilent course; exciting avarice, perturbing 
 quiet industry with the passion of the gamester, inflating vulgar 
 ambition, now at length scattering wreck and ruin. This is how 
 mankind progresses. Harvey Rolfe felt glad that no theological 
 or- scientific dogma constrained him to a justification of the laws of 
 life. 
 
 At lunch-time, newspaper boys began to yell. The earliest 
 placards roared in immense typography. In the Metropolitan 
 Club, sheets moist from the press suddenly descended like a fall of 
 snow. Rolfe stood by a window and read quietly. This first re- 
 port told him little that he had not already learnt, but there were a 
 few details of the suicide. Frothingham, it appeared, always vis- 
 ited the office of Stock and Share on the day before publication. 
 Yesterday, as usual, he had looked in for half-an-hour at three 
 o'clock ; but unexpectedly he came again at seven in the evening, 
 and for a third time at about eleven, when the printing of the 
 paper was in full swing. " It was supposed by the persons whom 
 he then saw that Mr. Frothingham finally quitted the office : 
 whether he actually left the building or not seems to remain uncer- 
 tain. If so, he re-entered without being observed, which does not 
 seem likely. Between two and three o'clock this morning, when 
 Stock and Share was practically ready for distribution, a man em- 
 ployed on the premises is said, for some unexplained reason, to 
 have ascended to the top floor of the building, and to have entered 
 a room ordinarily unused. A gas-jet was burning, and the man 
 was horrified to discover the dead body of Mr. Frothingham, at 
 full length on the floor, in his hand a pistol. On the alarm being 
 given, medical aid was at once summoned, and it became evident 
 that death had taken place more than an hour previously. That 
 no one heard the report of a pistol can be easily explained by the 
 noise of the machinery below. The dead man's face was placid. 
 Very little blood had issued from the wound, and the shot must 
 have been fired with a remarkably steady hand." 
 
 " A room on the top floor of the building, ordinarily unused " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 43 
 
 What story was it that Alma Frothingham told last night, of her 
 visit to the office of Stock and Share ? Rolfe had not paid much 
 attention to it at the time ; now he recalled the anecdote, and was 
 more impressed by its significance. That room, his first place of 
 business, the scene of poor beginnings, Bennet Frothingham had 
 chosen for his place of death. Perhaps he had long foreseen this 
 possibility, had mused upon the dramatic fitness of such an end ; 
 for there was a strain of melancholy in the man, legible on his 
 countenance, perceptible in his private conversation. Just about 
 the time when Alma laughingly told the story, her father must 
 have been sitting in that upper room, thinking his last thoughts ; 
 or it might be that he lay already dead. 
 
 Later issues contained much fuller reports. The man who 
 found the body had explained his behaviour in going up to the un- 
 used room, and it relieved the dark affair with a touch of comedy. 
 Before coming to work, he had quarrelled with his wife, and, 
 rather than go home in the early hours of the morning, he hit upon 
 the idea of finding a sleeping-place here on the premises, to which 
 he could slink unnoticed. " It's little enough sleep I get in my 
 own house," was his remark to the reporter who won his confidence. 
 Clubmen were hilarious over this incident, speculating as to the 
 result of its publication on the indiscreet man's domestic troubles. 
 
 It was not unremarked that a long time elapsed between the 
 discovery of the suicide and its being heard of by any one who had 
 an interest in making it generally known. With the exception of 
 two persons, all who were engaged upon the production of the 
 newspaper went home in complete ignorance of what had hap- 
 pened, so cautiously and successfully was the situation dealt with 
 by the sub-editor and his informant. When, after an examination 
 by the doctor, who had been summoned in all secrecy, it became 
 necessary to communicate with the police, the employees had all 
 gone away, and the printed sheets had been conveyed to the dis- 
 tributing agents. Naturally, the sub-editor , of Stock and Share 
 preserved a certain reticence in the matter ; but one could hardly 
 be mistaken in assuming that the directors of the Britannia Com- 
 pany—two or three of them, at all events— had an opportunity of 
 surveying their position long before the hour when this momen- 
 tous news got abroad. 
 
 With regard to the company's affairs, only conjecture could be 
 
44 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 as yet indulged in. In view of the immediate stoppage of bus- 
 iness, it was pretty safe to surmise that alarming disclosures 
 awaited the public. No one, of course, would be justified in 
 prejudging the case against the unhappy mail who, amid seem- 
 ingly brilliant circumstances, had been driven to so desperate an 
 act. 
 
 And so on, and so on, in one journal after another, in edition 
 upon edition. Harvey Rolfe read them till he was Weary, listened 
 to the gossip of the club till he was nauseated. He went home at 
 length with a headache, and, having carefully avoided contact 
 with Buncombe or Mrs. Handover, made an effort to absorb him- 
 self in a volume of Gregorovius, which was at present his study. 
 The attempt was futile. Talk still seemed to buzz about him ; his 
 temples throbbed ; his thoughts wandered far and wide. Driven 
 to bed long before his accustomed hour, he heard raucous voices 
 rending the night, bellowing in hideous antiphony from this side of 
 the street and the other, as the vendors of a halfpenny paper made 
 the most of what providence had sent them. 
 
 The first thing after breakfast next morning, he posted a line to 
 Hugh Carnaby. " Is there any way in which I can be of use to 
 you ? If you think not, I shall be off to-morrow to Greystone for 
 a few days. I feel as if we were all being swept into a ghastly 
 whirlpool which roars over the bottomless pit. Of course, I will 
 stay if I can do anything, no matter what. Otherwise, address for 
 a week to Basil Morton's." 
 
 This he dropped into the nearest pillar-box, and, as the sun was 
 endeavouring to shine, he walked the length of the street, a pre- 
 tence of exercise. On his way back he was preceded by a tel- 
 egraph boy, who stopped at Buncombe's front door, and awoke 
 the echoes with a twofold double knock. Before the servant could 
 open, Harvey was on the steps. 
 
 " What name ? " 
 
 " Rolfe." 
 
 " For me, then." 
 
 He tore open the envelope. 
 
 " Could you come at once ? Something has happened. — Ab- 
 bott." 
 
 The boy wished to know if there would be a reply. Harvey 
 shook his head, and stepped into the hall, where he stood reflecting. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 45 
 
 What could have happened that Edgar Abbott should summon 
 him ? Had his wife run away ? — Ah, to be sure, it must have 
 something- to do with Wager's children— an accident, a death. 
 But why send for him ? 
 
 He made a little change in his dress, and drove forthwith to Kil- 
 burn. As his cab stopped, he saw that all the blinds in the front of 
 the Abbotts' house were drawn down. Death, then, obviously. It 
 was with a painful shaking of the nerves that he knocked for ad- 
 mission. 
 
 "Mr. Abbott ?" 
 
 The servant girl, who had a long-drawn face, said nothing, but 
 left him where he stood, returning in a moment with a mumbled 
 " Will you please to come in, sir .' " He followed her to the room 
 in which he had talked with Mrs. Abbott two days ago ; and she 
 it was who again received him. Her back to the light, she stood 
 motionless. 
 
 " Your husband has telegraphed for me " 
 
 A voice that struggled with a sob made thick reply — 
 
 " No — I — he is dead ! " 
 
 The accent of that last monosyllable was heart-piercing. It 
 seemed to Harvey as though the word were new-minted, so full it 
 sounded of dreadful meaning. 
 
 " Dead ? " 
 
 Mrs. Abbott moved, and he could see her face better. She must 
 have wept for hours. 
 
 " He has been taking morphia — he couldn't sleep well — and then 
 his neuralgia.. The girl found him this morning, at seven o'clock 
 •^-there.'' 
 
 She pointed to the couch. 
 
 " You mean that he had taken an overdose — by accident " 
 
 " It must have been so. He had to work late — and then he 
 must have lain down to sleep." 
 
 "Why here?" 
 
 A flood of anguish whelmed her. She uttered a long moan, all 
 the more terrible for its subdual to a sound that could not pass be- 
 yond the room. Her struggle for self-command made her suffering 
 only the more impressive, the more grievous to behold. 
 
 " Mr. Rolfe, I sent for you because you are his old friend. I 
 meant to tell you all the truth, as I know it. I can't tell it before 
 
46 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 strangers— in public! I can't let them know — the shame — the 
 shame ! " 
 
 Harvey's sympathy gave vi^ay to astonishment and strange sur- 
 mise. Hurriedly he besought her not to reveal anything in her 
 present distress ; to wait till she could reflect calmly, see things in 
 truer proportion. His embarrassment was heightened by an in- 
 ability to identify this woman with the Mrs . Abbott he had known ; 
 the change in her self-presentment seemed as great and sudden as 
 that in her circumstances. Face and voice, though scarce recogni- 
 sable, had changed less than the soul of her — as Harvey imaged it. 
 This entreaty she replied to with a steadiness, a resolve, which left 
 him no choice but to listen. 
 
 " I cannot, dare not, think that he did this knowingly. No ! 
 He was too brave for that. He would never have left me in that 
 way — to my despair. But it was my fault that made him angry — 
 no, not angry ; he was never that with me, or never showed it. 
 But I had behaved with such utter selfishness " 
 
 Her misery refused to word itself. She sank down upon a chair 
 and sobbed and moaned. 
 
 " Your grief exaggerates every little fault," said Harvey. 
 
 " No — you must hear it all — then perhaps I can hide my shame 
 Jrom strangers. What use would it be if they knew ? It alters 
 nothing — it's only in my own heart. I have no right to pain you like 
 this. I will tell you quietly. You know that he went to Water- 
 bury, on business. Did he tell you ? — it was to buy a share in a 
 local newspaper. I, in ray blindness and selfishness, disliked that. 
 I wanted to live here ; the thought of going to live in the country 
 seemed unbearable. That Edgar was overworked and ill, seemed 
 to me a trifle. Don't you remember how I spoke of it when you 
 came here the other morning ? — I can't understand myself. How 
 could I think so, speak so ! " 
 
 The listener said nothing. 
 
 " He did what he purposed — made a bargain, and came back to 
 conclude the purchase by correspondence. But his money — the 
 small capital he counted upon — was in ' Britannia ' shares ; and 
 you know what happened yesterday — yesterday, the very day when 
 he went to sell the shares, thinking to do so without the least dif- 
 ficulty." 
 
 Harvey gave a grim nod. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 47 
 
 " He came home, and I showed that I was glad " 
 
 " No ! You accuse yourself unreasonably." 
 
 " I tell you the truth, as my miserable conscience knows it. I 
 was crazy with selfishness and conceit. Rightly, he left me to my 
 cowardly temper, and went out again, and was away for a long 
 time. He came back to dinner, and then the suffering in his face 
 all but taught me what I was doing. I wanted to ask him to for- 
 give me — to comfort him for his loss ; but pride kept me from it. 
 I couldn't speak— I couldn't I After dinner he said he had a lot 
 of work to do, and came into this room. At ten o'clock I sent 
 him coffee. I wished to take it myself— O God ! if only I had 
 done so ! I wished to take it, and speak to him, but still I 
 couldn't. And I knew he was in torture ; I saw at dinner that 
 pain was racking him. But I kept away, and went to my own 
 bed, and slept — whilst he was lying here." 
 
 A rush of tears relieved her. Harvey felt his own eyes grow 
 moist. 
 
 " It was only that he felt so worn out," she pursued. " I know 
 how it was. The pain grew intolerable, and he went upstairs for 
 his draught, and then — not having finished his work — he thought 
 he would lie down on the sofa for a little ; and so sleep overcame 
 him. He never meant this. If I thought it, I couldn't live I " 
 
 " Undoubtedly you are right," said Harvey, summoning an 
 accent of conviction. " I knew him very well, and_he was not the 
 man to do that." 
 
 " No ? You are sure of it ? You feel it impossible, Mr. Rolfe .' " 
 
 " Quite impossible. There are men — oh, you may assure your- 
 self that it was pure accident. Unfortunately, it happens so often." 
 
 She hung on his words, leaning towards him, her eyes wide and 
 lips parted. 
 
 " So often ! I have seen so many cases, in the papers. And he 
 was absent-minded. But what right have I to seek comfort for 
 myself ? Was I any less the cause of his death ? But must I tell 
 all this in public ? Do you think I ought to .' " 
 
 With comfortable sincerity Rolfe was able to maintain the 
 needlessness of divulging anything beyond the state of Abbott's 
 health and his pecuniary troubles. 
 
 " It isn't as if we had lived on ill terms with each other," said 
 the widow, with a sigh of gratitude. " Anything but that. Until 
 
48 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 of late we never knew a difference, and the change that came was 
 wholly my fault. I hadn't the honesty to speak out and say what 
 was in my mind. I never openly opposed his wish to leave Lon- 
 don. I pretended to agree to everything— pretended. He showed 
 me all his reasons, put everything simply and plainly and kindly 
 before me, and if I had said what I thought, I feel sure he would 
 have given it up at once. It was in my own hands to decide one 
 way or the other.'' 
 
 " Why should you reproach yourself so with mere thoughts, of 
 which he never became aware ? " 
 
 " Oh, it was yesterday, when he came back from the City. He 
 knew then that I was glad he couldn't carry out his purpose. He 
 looked at me as he never had done before — a look of surprise and 
 estrangement. I shall always see that look on his face." 
 
 Harvey talked in the strain of solace, feeling how extraordinary 
 was his position, and that of all men he had least fitness for such 
 an office. It relieved him when, without undue abruptness, he 
 could pass to the practical urgencies of the case. Were Wager's 
 children still in the house ? Alas ! they were, and Mrs. Abbott 
 knew not what to do about them. 
 
 " You can't think of any one who would take them — for a day 
 or two, even ? " 
 
 Among her acquaintances there was not one of whom she could 
 venture to ask such a service. " People have such a dread of chil- 
 dren." Her sister was a governess in Ireland ; other near rela- 
 tives she had none. Edgar Abbott's mother, old and in feeble 
 health, lived near Waterbury ; how was the dreadful news to be 
 conveyed to her .'' 
 
 Harvey bestirred himself. Here, at all events, was a call to 
 active usefulness ; he felt the privilege of money and leisure. 
 
 " Can you give me the name of any one at Waterbury who 
 would be a fit person to break the news to Mrs. Abbott.?" 
 
 Two names were mentioned, and he noted them. 
 
 " I will send telegrams at once to both." 
 
 " You will say it was an accident " 
 
 " That shall be made clear. As for the children, I think I can have 
 them taken away this morning. In the house where I live there 
 is a decent woman who I dare say would be willing to look after 
 them for the present. Will you leave this entirely in my hands ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 49 
 
 " I am ashamed — I don't know how to thank you." 
 
 " No time shall be lost." He rose. " If Mrs. Handover will 
 help us, 1 will bring her here ; then I shall see you again. In any 
 case, of course, I will come back — there will be other business. 
 But you ought to have some friend — some lady." 
 
 " There's no one I can ask." 
 
 " Oh, but of all the people you know in London — surely ! " 
 
 " They are not friends in that sense. I understand it now — 
 fifty acquaintances ; no friend." 
 
 " But let me think — let me think. What was the name of that 
 lady I met here, whose children you used to teach ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Langland. She is very kind and friendly, but she lives 
 at Gunnersbury — so far — and I couldn't trouble her." 
 
 Upon one meeting and a short conversation, with subsequent 
 remarks from Edgar Abbott, Rolfe had grounded a very favour- 
 able opinion of Mrs. Langland. She dwelt clearly in his mind as 
 "a woman with no nonsense about her," likely to be of much 
 helpfulness at a crisis such as the present. With difficulty he per- 
 suaded Mrs. Abbott to sit down and write a few lines, to be 
 posted at once to Gunnersbury. 
 
 " I haven't dared to ask her to come. But I have said that I 
 am alone." 
 
 " Quite enough, I think, if she is at home." 
 
 He took his leave, and drove back to Bayswater, posting the 
 letter and despatching two telegrams on the way. 
 
 Of course, his visit to Greystone was given up. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Hugh Carnaby was gratified by the verdict oifelo de se. He 
 applauded the jury for their most unexpected honesty. One had 
 taken for granted the foolish tag about temporary madness, which 
 would have been an insult to everybody's common sense. 
 
 "It's a pity they no longer bury at four cross-roads, with a 
 stake in his inside. (Where's that from ? I remember it some- 
 how.) The example wouldn't be bad." 
 
 " You're rather early- Victorian," replied Sibyl, who by this term 
 
50 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 was wont to signify barbarism or crudity in art, letters, morality, 
 or social feeling. "Besides, there's no merit in the verdict. It 
 only means that the City jury is in a rage. Yet every one of 
 them would be dishonest on as great a scale if they dared, or had 
 the chance.'' 
 
 " Something in that, I dare say," conceded Hugh. 
 
 He admired his wife more than ever. Calm when she lost her 
 trinkets, Sibyl exhibited no less self-command now that she was 
 suddenly deprived of her whole fortune, about eight hundred a 
 year. She had once remarked on the pleasantness and fitness of 
 a wife's possessing in her own name an income equal to that of 
 her husband; yet she resigned it without fuss. Indeed, Sibyl 
 never made a fuss about anything. She intimated her wishes, 
 and, as they were always possible of gratification, obtained them 
 as a matter of course. Naturally, since their marriage, she and 
 Hugh had lived to the full extent of their means. Carnaby had 
 reduced his capital by a couple of thousand pounds in preliminary 
 expenses, and debt to theamount of two or three hundred, was 
 outstanding at the end of the first twelvemonth ; but Sibyl mani- 
 fested no alarm. 
 
 " We have been great fools,'' she said, alluding to their faith in 
 Bennet Frothingham. 
 
 " It's certain that I have," replied her husband. " I oughtn't to 
 have let your mother have her way about that money. If there 
 had been a proper settlement, you would have run no risk. 
 Trustees couldn't have allowed such an investment." 
 
 The same day Sibyl bought a fur for her neck which cost fifteen 
 guineas. The weather was turning cold, and she had an account 
 at the shop. 
 
 That afternoon, too, she went to see her mother, and on re- 
 turning at six o'clock looked into the library, where Hugh sat by 
 the fire, a book in his hand. Carnaby found the days very long 
 just now. He shunned his clubs, the Metropolitan and the Ram- 
 blers', because of a fear that his connection with the " Britannia," 
 was generally known ; to hear talk on the subject would make 
 him savage. He was grievously perturbed in mind by his position 
 and prospects ; and want of exercise had begun to affect his 
 health. As always, he greeted his wife's entrance with a smile, 
 and rose to place a chair for her. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 51 
 
 " Thanks, I won't sit down," said Sibyl. " You look comfort- 
 able.'' 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 She looked at him reflectively, and said in balanced tones — 
 
 " I really think I can boast of having the most selfish mother in 
 England." 
 
 Hugh had his own opinion concerning Mrs. Ascott Larkfield, 
 but would not have ventured to phrase it. 
 
 " How's that ? " 
 
 " I never knew any one who succeeded so well in thinking 
 steadily and exclusively of herself. It irritates me to see her since 
 this affair ; I shan't go again. I really didn't know what a de- 
 testable temper she has. Her talk is outrageous. She doesn't 
 behave like a lady. Could you believe that she has written a vio- 
 lent letter to Mrs. Frothingham — ' speaking her mind,' as she 
 says ? It's disgraceful ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry she has done that. But it isn't every one that can 
 bear injury as you do, Sibyl." 
 
 " I supposed she could behave herself. She raises her voice, 
 and uses outrageous words, and shows temper with the servants. 
 I wouldn't spend a day in that house now on any account. And, 
 after all, I find she hasn't lost much more than I have. She will 
 be able to count on six hundred a year at least." 
 
 Carnaby received the news with a brightened visage. 
 
 " Oh come ! That's something.'' 
 
 " She took very good care, you see, not to risk everything her- 
 self." 
 
 " It's impossible," said Hugh, " that she hadn't control of all 
 her money." 
 
 " Oh yes, she had. She let that fact escape in her fury — con- 
 gratulated herself on being so far prudent. Really, I never knew 
 a more hateful woman." 
 
 It was said without vehemence, with none of that raising of the 
 voice which so offended her : a deliberate judgment, in carefully 
 chosen words. Hugh tried to smile, but could not quite command 
 his features ; they expressed an uneasy thoughtfulness. 
 
 " Do you go out this evening? " he asked, after a pause. 
 
 " No ; I'm rather tired and out of sorts. Dinner is at seven. 
 I shall go to bed early." 
 
52 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 The police had as yet failed to get upon the track of the feloni- 
 ous 'housekeeper, known as Mrs. Maskell. Mrs. Carnaby's other 
 servants still kept their places, protesting innocence, and doubtless 
 afraid to leave lest they should incur suspicion. Domestic man- 
 agement was now in the hands of the cook. Sibyl always declared 
 that she could not eat a dinner she Rad had the trouble of order- 
 ing, and she seemed unaffectedly to shrink from persons of the 
 menial class, as though with physical repulsion. Perforce she sub- 
 mitted to having her hair done by her maid, but she found the 
 necessity disagreeable. 
 
 The dinner was simple, but well cooked. Sibyl never ate with 
 hearty appetite, and declined everything not of excellent quality : 
 unlike women in general, she was fastidious about wine, yet took 
 of it sparingly ; liqueurs, too, she enjoyed, and very strong coffee. 
 To a cigarette in the mouth of a woman she utterly objected ; it 
 offended her sense of the becoming, her delicate perception of 
 propriety. When dining alone or with Hugh, she dressed as care- 
 fully as for a ceremonious occasion. Any approach to personal 
 disorder or neglect was inconceivable in Sibyl. Her husband 
 had, by accident, heard her called " the best-groomed woman in 
 London " ; he thought the praise well merited, and it flattered 
 him. 
 
 At table they talked of things as remote as possible from their 
 inmiediate concerns, and with the usual good-humour. When he 
 rose to open the door, Hugh said — 
 
 " Drawing-room or library ? " 
 
 " Library. You would like to smoke." 
 
 For ten minutes he sat with his arms on the table, his great 
 well-shapen hands loosely clenched before him. He drank nothing. 
 His gaze was fixed on a dish of fruit, and widened as if in a grow- 
 ing perplexity. Then he recovered himself, gave a snort, and 
 went to join his wife. 
 
 Sibyl was reading a newspaper. Hugh lit his pipe in silence, 
 and sat down opposite to her. Presently the newspaper dropped, 
 and Sibyl's eyes were turned upon her husband with a smile. 
 
 " Well ? ■■ 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 They smiled at each other amiably. 
 
 " What do you suggest. Birdie ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL S3 
 
 The fondling name was not very appropriate, and had not been 
 used of late ; Carnaby hit upon it in the honeymoon days, when he 
 said that his wife was like' some little lovely bird, which he, great 
 coarse fellow, had captured and almost feared to touch lest he 
 should hurt it. Hugh had not much originahty of thought, and 
 less of expression. 
 
 " There are places, you know, where one lives very comfortably 
 on very little," said Sibyl. 
 
 " Yes ; but it leads to nothing." 
 
 " What would lead to anything ? " 
 
 " Well, you see, I have capital, and some use ought to be made 
 of it. Everybody nowadays goes in for some kind of business. " 
 
 She listened with interest, smiling, meditative. 
 
 •• And a great many people come out of it — wishing they had 
 done so before." 
 
 " True," said Carnaby ; " there's the difficulty. I had a letter 
 from Dando this morning. He has got somebody to believe in his 
 new smelting process — somebody in the City ; talks of going out 
 to Queensland shortly. Really — if I could be on the spot " 
 
 He hesitated, timidly indicating his thoughts. Sibyl mused, 
 and slowly shook her head. 
 
 " No ; wait for reports." 
 
 " Yes ; but it's those who are in it first, you see," 
 
 Sibyl seemed to forget the immediate subject, and to let her 
 thoughts wander in pleasant directions. She spoke as if on a 
 happy impulse. 
 
 " There's one place I think I should like— though I dread the 
 voyage." 
 
 " Where's that ? " 
 
 "Honolulu." 
 
 " What has put that into your head ? " 
 
 " Oh, I have read about it. The climate is absolute perfection, 
 and the Hfe exquisite. How do you get there ? " 
 
 •• Across America, and then from San Francisco. It's anything 
 but a cheap place, I believe." 
 
 " Still, for a time. The thing is to get away, don't you think ? " 
 
 " No doubt of that.— Honolulu— by Jove ! it's an idea. I should 
 like to see those islands myself." 
 
 " And it isn't commonplace," remarked Sibyl. " One would go 
 
54 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 off with a certain Mat. Very different from starting for the Con- 
 tinent in the hum-drum way." 
 
 The more Carnaby thought of it, the better he liked this sugges- 
 tion. That Sibyl should voluntarily propose so long a journey 
 surprised and delighted him. The tropics were not his favourite 
 region, and those islands of the Pacific offered no scope for profit- 
 able energy ; he did not want to climb volcanoes, still less to 
 lounge beneath bananas and bread-fruit trees, however pleasant 
 such an escape from civilisation might seem at the first glance. 
 A year of marriage, of idleness amid amusements, luxuries, extra- 
 vagances, for which he had no taste, was bearing its natural result 
 in masculine restiveness. His robust physique and temper, essen- 
 tially combative, demanded liberty under conditions of rude or 
 violent life. He was not likely to find a satisfying range in any 
 mode of existence that would be shared by Sibyl. But he clutched 
 at any chance of extensive travel. It might be necessary — it cer- 
 tainly would be — to make further incision into his capital, and so 
 diminish the annual return upon which he could count for the 
 future ; but when his income had already become ludicrously in-, 
 adequate, what did that matter ? The years of independence were 
 past ; somehow or other, he must make money. Everybody did 
 it nowadays, and an " opening " would of course present itself, 
 something would of course " turn up.'' 
 
 He stretched his limbs in a sudden vast relief. 
 
 " Bravo ! The idea is excellent. Shall we sell all this stuff ? " 
 waving a hand to indicate the furniture. 
 
 " Oh, I think not. Warehouse it." 
 
 Hugh would have rejoiced to turn every chair and table into 
 hard cash, not only for the money's sake, but for the sense of 
 freedom that would follow ; but he agreed, as always, to what- 
 ever his wife preferred. They talked with unwonted animation. 
 A great atlas was opened, routes were fingered ; half the earth's 
 circumference vanished in a twinkling. Sibyl, hitherto mewed 
 within the circle of European gaieties and relaxations, all at once 
 let her fancy fly — tasted a new luxury in experiences from which 
 she had shrunk. 
 
 " I'll order my outfit to-morrow. Very light things, I suppose ? 
 Who could advise me about that ? " 
 
 Among a number of notes and letters which she wrote next day 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 55 
 
 was one to Miss Frothingham. " Dear Alma," it began, and it 
 ended with " Yours affectionately" — just as usual. 
 
 " Could you possibly come here some day this week ? I haven't 
 written before, and haven't tried to see you, because I felt sure 
 you would rather be left alone. At the same time I feel sure that 
 what has happened, though for a time it will sadden us both, can- 
 not affect our friendship. I want to see you, as we are going 
 away very soon, first of all to Honolulu. Appoint your own 
 time ; I will be here.'' 
 
 By return of post came the black-edged answer, which began 
 with " Dearest Sibyl," and closed with " Ever affectionately." 
 
 " I cannot tell you how relieved I am to get your kind letter. 
 These dreadful days have made me ill, and one thing that increased 
 my misery was the fear that I should never hear from you again. I 
 should not have dared to write. How noble you are ! — but then I 
 always knew that. I cannot come to-morrow — you know why — 
 but the next day I will be with you at three o'clock, if you don't 
 tell me that the hour is inconvenient." 
 
 They met at the appointed time. Mrs. Carnaby's fine sense of 
 the becoming declared itself in dark array ; her voice was tenderly 
 subdued ; the pressure of her hand, the softly lingering touch of 
 her lips, conveyed a sympathy which perfect taste would not allow 
 to become demonstrative. Alma could at first say nothing. The 
 faint rose upon her cheek had vanished ; her eyes were heavy, and 
 lacked their vital Igleam ; her mouth, no longer mobile and provo- 
 cative, trembled on the verge of sobs, pathetic, childlike. She 
 hung her head, moved with a languid, difRdent step, looked 
 smaller and slighter, a fashionable garb of woe aiding the un- 
 happy transformation. 
 
 " I oughtn't to have given you this trouble," said Sibyl. " But 
 perhaps you would rather see me here " 
 
 " Yes — oh yes — it was much better " 
 
 " Sit down, dear. We won't talk of wretched things, will we ? 
 If I could have been of any use to you " 
 
 " I was so afraid you would never " 
 
 " Oh, you know me better than that," broke in Mrs. Carnaby, 
 almost with cheerfulness,' her countenance already throwing off 
 the decorous shadow, like a cloak that had served its turn. " I 
 hope I am neither foolish nor worldly-minded." 
 
56 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Indeed, indeed not ! You are goodness itself." 
 
 " How is Mrs. Frothingham ? " 
 
 The question was asked with infinite delicacy, head and body- 
 bent forward, eyes floatingly averted. 
 
 " Really ill, I'm afraid. She has fainted several times^yesterday 
 was unconscious for nearly half-an-hour.'' 
 
 Sibyl flinched. Mention of physical suffering affected her most 
 disagreeably ; she always shunned the proximity of people in ill 
 health, and a possibility of infection struck her with panic. 
 
 " Oh, I'm so sorry. But it will pass over." 
 
 " I hope so. I have done what I could." 
 
 " I'm sure you have." 
 
 " But it's so hard — when every word of comfort sounds heart- 
 less — when it's kindest to say nothing " 
 
 " We won't talk about it, dear. You yourself — I can see what 
 you have gone through. You must get away as soon as possible ; 
 this gloomy weather makes everything worse." 
 
 She paused, and with an air of discreet interest awaited Alma's 
 reply. 
 
 " Yes, I hope to get away. I shall see if it's possible." 
 
 The girl's look strayed with a tired uncertainty ; her hands 
 never ceased to move and fidget ; only the habits of goodbreeding 
 kept her body still. 
 
 " Of course, it is too soon for you to have made plans." 
 
 " It's so difficult," replied Alma, her features more naturally 
 expressive, her eyes a little brighter. " You see, I am utterly 
 dependent upon mamma. I had better tell you at once — mamma 
 will have enough to live upon, however things turn out. She has 
 money of her own ; but of course I have nothing — nothing what- 
 ever. I think, most likely, mamma will go to live with her sister, in 
 the country, for a time. She couldn't bear to go on living in Lon- 
 don, and she doesn't like life abroad. If only I could do as I wish!" 
 
 " I guess what that would be," said the other, smiling gently. 
 
 " To take up music as a profession — yes. But I'm not ready 
 for it." 
 
 " Oh, half a year of serious study ; with your decided talent, I 
 should think you couldn't hesitate. You are a born musician." 
 
 The vi'ords acted as a cordial. Alma roused herself, lifted her 
 drooping head and smiled. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 57 
 
 " That's the praise of a friend." 
 
 " And the serious opinion of one not quite unfit to judge," 
 rejoined Sibyl, with her air of tranquil self-assertion. " Besides, 
 we have agreed— haven't we ?— that the impulse is everything. 
 What you wish for, try for. Just now you have lost courage ; you 
 are not yourself. Wait till you recover your balance." 
 
 " It isn't that I want to make a name, or anything of that sort," 
 said Alma, in a voice that was recovering its ordinary pitch and 
 melody. " I dare say I never should ; I might just support myself, 
 and that would be all. But I want to be free— I want to break 
 away."' 
 
 " Of course ! " 
 
 *' I have been thinking that I shall beg mamma to let me have 
 just a small allowance, and go off by myself. I know people at 
 Leipzig— the Gassners, you remember. I could live there on little 
 enough, and work, and feel free. Of course, there's really no rea- 
 son why I shouldn't. I have been feeling so bound and helpless ; 
 and now that nobody has any right to hinder me, you think it 
 would be the wise thing ? " 
 
 Alma had occasionally complained to her friend, as she did the 
 other evening to Harvey Rolfe, that easy circumstances were not 
 favourable to artistic ambition, but no very serious disquiet had 
 ever declared itself in her ordinary talk. The phrases she now 
 used, and the look that accompanied them, caused Sibyl some 
 amusement. Only two years older than Alma, Mrs. Carnaby 
 enjoyed a more than proportionate superiority in knowledge of the 
 world ; her education had been more steadily directed to that end, 
 and her natural aptitude for the study was more pronounced. 
 That she really liked Alma seemed as certain as that she felt 
 neither affection nor esteem for any other person of her own sex. 
 Herself not much inclined to feminine friendship, Alma had from 
 the first paid voluntary homage to Sibyl's intellectual claims, and 
 thought it a privilege to be admitted to her intimacy ; being per- 
 suaded, moreover, that in Sibyl, and in Sibyl alone, she found genu- 
 ine appreciation of her musical talent. Sibyl's choice of a husband 
 had secretly surprised and disappointed her, for Hugh Carnaby 
 was not the type of man in whom she felt an interest, and he seemed 
 to her totally unworthy of his good fortune ; but this perplexity 
 passed and was forgotten. She saw that Sibyl underwent no sub- 
 
58 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 jugation ; nay, that the married woman did but perfect herself in 
 those qualities of mind and mood whereby she had shone as a 
 maiden. It was a combination of powers and virtues which 
 appeared to Alma little short of the ideal in womanhood. The 
 example influenced her developing character in ways she recog- 
 nised, and in others of which she remained quite unconscious. 
 
 " I think you couldn't do better," Mrs. Carnaby replied to the 
 last question; "provided that " 
 
 She paused intentionally, with an air of soft solicitude, of bland 
 wisdom. 
 
 " That's just what I wanted, " said Alma eagerly. " Advise 
 me — tell me just what you think." 
 
 " You want to live alone, and to have done with all the silly 
 conventionalities and proprieties— our old friend Mrs. Grundy, in 
 fact." 
 
 •' That's it ! You understand me perfectly, as you always do." 
 
 " If it had been possible, we would have lived together." 
 
 " Ah! how delightful ! Don't speak of what can't be." 
 
 " I was going to say,'' pursued Sibyl thoughtfully, " that you 
 will meet with all sorts of little troubles and worries, which you 
 have never had any experience of. For one thing, you know " — 
 she leaned back, smiling, at ease — " people won't behave to you 
 quite as you have been accustomed to expect. Money is very im- 
 portant even to a man ; but to a woman it means more than you 
 can imagine." 
 
 " Oh, but I shan't be living among the kind of people " 
 
 " No, no. Perhaps you don't quite understand me yet. It isn't 
 the people you seek who matter, but the people that will seek you; 
 and some of them will have very strange ideas — very strange in- 
 deed." 
 
 Alma looked self-conscious, kept her eyes down, and at length 
 nodded. 
 
 " Yes. I think I understand." 
 
 " That's why I said ' provided.' You are not the ordinary girl, 
 and you won't imagine that I feared for you ; I know you too 
 well. It's a question of being informed and on one's guard. I 
 don't think there's any one else who would talk to you like this. 
 It doesn't offend you ? " 
 
 " Sibyl ! ' 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 59 
 
 " Well, then, that's all right. Go into the world by all means, 
 but go prepared— armed ; the word isn't a bit too strong, as I 
 know perfectly. Some day, perhaps— but there's no need to talk 
 about such things now. " 
 
 Alma kept a short silence, breaking it at length with a note of 
 exultation. 
 
 " I'm quite decided now. I wanted just to hear what you 
 would say. I shan't wait a day longer than I can help. The old 
 life is over for me. If only it had come about in some other way, 
 I should be singing with rapture. I'm going to begin to live ! " 
 
 She quivered with intensity of feeling, or with that excitement of 
 the nerves which simulates intense feeling in certain natures. A 
 flush stole to her cheek ; her eyes were once more full of light. 
 Sibyl regarded her observantly and with admiration. 
 
 " You never thought of the stage, Alma ? " 
 
 " The stage ? Acting ? '' 
 
 " No ; I see you never did. And it wouldn't do — of course it 
 wouldn't do. Something in your look — it just crossed my mind 
 — but of course you have much greater things before you. It 
 means hard work, and I'm only afraid you'll work yourself all 
 but to death.'' 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder,'' replied the girl, with a little laugh of 
 pride in this possibility. 
 
 " Well, I too am going away, you know." 
 
 Alma's countenance fell ; shame again crept over it, and she 
 murmured, " O Sibyl ! " 
 
 " Don't distress yourself the least on my account. That's an 
 understood thing ; no mention, no allusion, ever between us. 
 And the truth is that my position is just a little like yours ; on the 
 whole, I'm rather glad. Hugh wants desperately to get to the 
 other end of the world, and I dare say it's the best thing I could 
 do to go with him. No roughing it, of course ; that isn't in my 
 way." 
 
 " I should think not, indeed ! " 
 
 " Oh, I may rise to those heights, who knows ! If the new sen- 
 sation ever seemed worth the trouble. — In a year or two, we shall 
 meet and compare notes. Don't expect long descriptive letters ; 
 I don't care to do indifferently what other people have done well 
 and put into print — it's a waste of energy. But you are sure to 
 
6o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 have far more interesting and original things to tell about ; it will 
 read so piquantly, I'm sure, at Honolulu.'' 
 
 They drank tea together, and talked, in all, for a couple of hours. 
 When she rose to leave, Alma, but for her sombre drapings, was 
 totally changed from the limp, woebegone, shrinking girl who had 
 at first presented herself. 
 
 " There's no one else," she said, " who would have behaved to 
 me so kindly and so nobly." 
 
 " Nonsense ! But that's nonsense, too. Let us admire each 
 other ; it does us good, and is so very pleasant." 
 
 " I shall say good-bye to no one but you. Let people think and 
 say of me what they like ; I don't care a. snap of the fingers. In- 
 deed, I hate people." 
 
 " Both sexes impartially 1 " 
 
 It was a peculiarity of their intimate converse that they never 
 talked of men, and a jest of this kind had novelty sufficient to af- 
 fect Alma with a slight confusion. 
 
 " Impartially — quite," she answered. 
 
 " Do make an exception in favour of Hugh's friend, Mr. Rolfe. 
 I abandon all the rest.'' 
 
 Alma betrayed surprise. 
 
 " Strange ! I really thought you didn't much like Mr. Rolfe," 
 she said, without any show of embarrassment. 
 
 " I didn't when I first knew him : but he grows upon one. I 
 think him interesting ; he isn't quite easy to understand." 
 
 " Indeed he isn't." 
 
 They smiled with the confidence of women fancy-free, and said 
 no more on the subject. 
 
 Carnaby came home to dinner brisk and cheerful ; he felt better 
 than for many a day. Brightly responsive, Sibyl welcomed his 
 appearance in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Saw old Rolfe for a minute at the club. In a vile temper. I 
 wonder whether he really has lost money, and won't confess ? 
 Yet I don't think so. Queer old stick.'' 
 
 " By-the-bye, what fs his age ? " asked Alma unconcernedly. 
 
 " Thirty-seven or eight. But I always think of him as fifty." 
 
 " I suppose he'll never marry ? " 
 
 " Rolfe ? Good heavens, no ! Too much sense — hang it, you 
 know what I mean ! It would never suit him. Can't imagine 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 6i 
 
 such a thing. He gets more and more booky. Has his open-air 
 moods toOj and amuses me with his Jingoism. So different from 
 his old ways of talking ; but I didn't care much about him in those 
 days. Well, now, look here, I've had a talk with a man I know, 
 about Honolulu, and I've got all sorts of things to tell you.— Din- 
 ner ? Very glad ; I'm precious hungry," 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 About the middle of December, Alma Frothingham left Eng- 
 land, burning with a fever of impatience, resenting all inquiry and 
 counsel, making pretence of settled plans, really indifferent toevery- 
 thing but the prospect of emancipation. The disaster that had be- 
 fallen her life, the dishonour darkening upon her name, seemed for 
 the moment merely a price paid for liberty. The shock of sorrow 
 and dismay had broken innumerable bonds, overthrown all manner 
 of obstacles to growth of character, of power. She gloried in a new, 
 intoxicating sense of irresponsibility. She saw the ideal life in a 
 release from all duty and obligation — save to herself. 
 
 Travellers on that winter day from Antwerp into Germany no- 
 ticed the English girl, well dressed, and of attractive features, 
 whose excited countenance and restless manner told of a journey 
 in haste, with something most important, and assuredly not dis- 
 agreeable, at the end of it. She was alone, and evidently quite 
 able to take care of herself. Unlike the representative English 
 Frdulein, she did not reject friendly overtures from strangers ; her 
 German was lame, but she spoke it with enjoyment, laughing at 
 her stumbles and mistakes. With her in the railway carriage she 
 kept a violin-case. A professional musician ? " Noch nicht " was 
 her answer, with a laugh. She knew Leipzig .' Oh dear, yes, and 
 many other parts of Germany ; had travelled a good deal ; was an 
 entirely free and independent person, quite without national preju- 
 dice, indeed without prejudice of any kind. And in the same 
 breath she spoke slightingly, if not contemptuously, of England 
 and everything English. 
 
 At Leipzig she stayed until the end of April, living with a family 
 named Gassner, people whom she had known for some years. 
 Only on condition that she would take up her abode with this 
 
62 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 household had Mrs. Frothingham consented to make her an al- 
 lowance and let her go abroad. Alma fretted at the restriction ; 
 she wished to have a room of her own in a lodging-house ; but 
 the family life improved her command of German — something 
 gained. To music, meanwhile, she gave very little attention, 
 putting off with one excuse after another the beginning of her 
 serious studies. She seemed to have quite forgotten that music 
 was her " religion,'' and, for the matter of that, appeared to have 
 no religion at all. " Life ' was her interest, her study. She made 
 acquaintances, attended concerts and the theatre, read multitudes 
 of French and German novels. But her habits were economical. 
 All the pleasures she desired could be enjoyed at very small ex- 
 pense, and she found her step-mother's remittances more than 
 sufficient. 
 
 In April she gained Mrs. Frothingham's consent to her removal 
 from Leipzig to Munich. A German girl with whom she had made 
 friends was going to Munich to study art. For reasons, vague 
 even to herself (so ran her letters to Mrs. Frothingham), she could 
 not " settle " at Leipzig. The climate did not seem to suit her. 
 She had suffered from bad colds, and, in short, was doing no good. 
 At Munich lived an admirable violinist, a friend of Herr Wilenski's, 
 who would be of great use to her. " In short, dear mamma, 
 doesn't it seem to you rather humiliating that at the age of four 
 and twenty I should be begging for permission to go here and 
 there, do this or that .' I know all your anxieties about me, and I 
 am very grateful, and I feel ashamed to be living at your expense, 
 but really 1 must go about making a career for myself in my own 
 way." Mrs. Frothingham yielded, and Alma took lodgings in 
 Munich together with her German friend. 
 
 English newspapers were now reporting the trial of the directors 
 of the Britannia Company, for to this pass had things come. 
 The revelations of the law-court satisfied public curiosity, and ex- 
 cited indignant clamour. Alma read, and tried to view the pro- 
 ceedings as one for whom they had no personal concern ; but her 
 sky darkened, her heart grew heavy. The name of Bennet Froth- 
 ingham stood for criminal recklessness, for huge rascality ; it 
 would be so for years to come. She had no courage to take up 
 her violin ; the sound of music grew hateful to her, as if mocking 
 at her ruined ambition. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 63 
 
 Three months had passed since she received her one and only 
 letter from Honolulu ; two months since she had written to Sibyl. 
 On a blue day of spring, when despondency lowered upon her, and 
 all occupation, all amusements seemed a burden, she was driven 
 to address her friend on the other side of the world, to send a cry 
 of pain and hopelessness to the dream-island of the Pacific. 
 
 " What is the use of working at music .'' The simple truth is, 
 that since I left England I have given it up. I am living here on 
 false pretences ; I shall never care to play the violin again. What 
 sort of a reception could I expect from an English audience .' If 
 I took another name, of course it would get known who I was, 
 and people would just come to stare at me— pleasant thought ! 
 And I have utterly lost confidence in myself. The difficulties are 
 great, even where there is great talent, and I feel I have nothing of 
 the kind. I might toil for years, and should do no good. I feel I 
 am not an artist — I am beaten and disgraced. There's nothing left 
 but to cry and be miserable, like any other girl who has lost her 
 money, her hopes, everything. Why don't you write to me .' If 
 you wait till you get this, it will be six or seven weeks before I 
 could possibly hear. And a letter from you would do me so much 
 good." 
 
 Some one knocked at her door. She called " Herein ! " and 
 there appeared a little boy, the child of her landlady, who some- 
 times ran errands for her. He said that a gentleman was asking 
 to see her. 
 
 " £zn Deutscher ? " 
 
 " Nein. Ein Engldnder, glaub' ich, und ein schnurriges 
 Dentsch ist's, das er verbricht ! " 
 
 Alma started up, shut her unfinished letter in the blotting-case, 
 and looked anxiously about the room. 
 
 " What is his name ? Ask him to give you his name." 
 
 The youngster came back with a card, and Alma was astonished 
 to read the name of " Mr. Felix Dymes." Why, she had all but 
 forgotten the man's existence. How came'he here ? What right 
 had he to call .' And yet she was glad — nay, delighted. Happily, 
 she had the sitting-room (shared with her art-studying friend) to 
 herself this morning. 
 
 " Bring him up here," she said to the boy hurriedly, " and ask 
 him to wait a minute for me. " 
 
64 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 And she escaped to make a rapid change of dress. For Alma 
 was not like Sibyl Carnaby in perpetual regard for personal finish ; 
 she dressed carelessly, save when the occasion demanded pains ; 
 she liked the ease of gowns and slippers, of loose hair and free 
 throat ; and this taste had grown upon her during the past months. 
 But she did not keep Mr. Dymes waiting very long, and on her en- 
 trance he gazed at her with very frank admiration. Frank, too, 
 was his greeting — that of a very old and intimate friend, rather 
 than of a drawing-room acquaintance. He came straight from 
 England, he said ; a spring holiday, warranted by the success of 
 his song " Margot," which the tenor, Topham, had sung at St. 
 James's Hall. A few days ago he had happened to see Miss 
 Leach, who gave him Miss Frothingham's address, and he could 
 not deny himself the pleasure of calling. Chatting thus, he made 
 himself comfortable in a chair, and Alma sat over against him. 
 The^man was loud, conceited, vulgar ; but, after all, he composed 
 very sweet music, which promised to take the public ear ; and he 
 brought with him a waft from the happiness of old days ; and 
 how could one expect small proprieties of a bohemian, an artist ? 
 Alma began to talk eagerly, joyously. 
 
 " And what are you doing. Miss Frothingham ? " 
 
 " Oh, fiddling a little. But I haven't been very well." 
 
 " I can see that. Yet in another sense you look better than 
 ever.'' 
 
 He began to hum an air, glancing round the room. 
 
 " You haven't a piano. Just listen to this ; how do you think 
 it will do ? " He hummed through a complete melody. " Came 
 into my head last night. Wants rather sentimental words — the 
 kind of thing that goes down with the British public. Rather a 
 good air, don't you think ? " 
 
 Felix Dymes had two manners of conversation. In a company 
 at all ceremonious, and when it behoved him to make an impres- 
 sion, he talked as the artist and the expert in music, with many Ger- 
 man phrases, which he pronounced badly, to fill up the gaps in 
 his knowledge. His familiar stream of talk was very different : it 
 discarded affectation, and had a directness, a vigour, which never 
 left one in doubt as to his actual views of life. How melody of 
 any kind could issue from a nature so manifestly ignoble might 
 puzzle the idealist. Alma, who had known a good many musical 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 65 
 
 people, was not troubled by this difficulty ; in her present mood, 
 she submitted to the arrogance of success, and felt a pleasure, an 
 encouragement, in Dymes's bluff camaraderie. 
 
 " Let me try to catch it on the violin," she said when, with 
 nodding head and waving arm, he had hummed again through 
 his composition. 
 
 She succeeded in doing so, and Dymes raised his humming to a 
 sentimental roar, and was vastly pleased with himself. 
 
 " I like to see you in a place like this," he said. " Looks more 
 business-like — as if you really meant to do something. Do you 
 live here alone ? " 
 
 " With a friend." 
 
 Something peculiar in Dymes's glance caused her to add, " A 
 German girl, an art-student." Whereat the musician nodded and 
 smiled. 
 
 " And what's your idea ? Come now, let's talk about it. I 
 wonder whether I could be of any use to you— awfully glad if I 
 could." 
 
 Alma was abashed, stammered her vague projects, and red- 
 dened under the man's observant eye. 
 
 " Look here," he cried, with his charming informality, " didn't 
 you use to sing? Somebody told me you had a pretty good 
 voice." 
 
 " Oh, that was long ago." 
 
 " I wish you'd let me hear you." 
 
 " No, no ! I don't sing at all." 
 
 " Pity, if it's true. I want to write a serio-comic opera, a new 
 sort of thing, and it struck me you were just cut out for that kind 
 of singing. You have the face and the^you know — the refine- 
 ment ; sort of thing not easy to find. It's a poor chance, I'm 
 afraid, coming out as a violinist." 
 
 Half inclined to resent his impertinence, yet subdued by the 
 practical tone and air of superior knowledge. Alma kept a grave 
 face. Dymes, crossing his legs, went on with talk of projects he 
 had in view, all intended to be lucrative. He had capital ; nothing 
 great, just a comfortable sum which he was bent on using to the 
 best advantage. His songs would presently be bringing him in a 
 few hundreds a year — so he declared— and his idea of life was to 
 get as much enjoyment as possible without working over hard for 
 
66 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 it. The conversation lasted for a couple of hours, Dymes growing 
 even more genial and confidential, his eyes seldom moving from 
 Alma's face. 
 
 " Well," he said at length, rising, " it's very jolly to see you 
 again, after all this time. I shall be staying here for a few days. 
 You'll let me call to-morrow ? " 
 
 At once glad and sorry to see him go, Alma laughingly gave 
 the desired permission. When, that evening, she looked at her 
 unfinished letter, it seemed such a miserable whine that she tore 
 it up in annoyance. Dymes's visit had done her good ; she felt, 
 if not a renewal of hope, at all events the courage which comes of 
 revived spirits. 
 
 The next day she awaited his arrival with a pleasant expecta- 
 tion. He entered humming an air — another new composition—' 
 which again she caught from him and played on the violin. 
 
 " Good, don't you think ? I'm in great vein just now — always 
 am in the spring, and when the weather's fine. I say, you're 
 looking much better to-day — decidedly more fit. What do you 
 do here for exercise .'' Do you go to the Englische Garten .' 
 Come now, will you ? Let's have a drive." 
 
 With sudden coldness Alma excused herself. The musician 
 scrutinised her rapidly, bit his lip, and looked round to the win- 
 dow ; but in a moment he had recovered his loud good-humour. 
 
 " You'll hardly believe it, but it's the plain truth, that I came all 
 this way just to see you. I hadn't thought of coming to Germany 
 till I met Miss Leach and heard about you. Now I'm so far, I 
 might as well go on into Italy, and make a round of it. I wish 
 you were coming too." 
 
 Alma made no reply. He scrutinised her as before, and his 
 features worked as if with some emotion. Then, abruptly, he put 
 a blunt question. 
 
 " Do you think people who go in for music, art, and that kind of 
 thing, ought to marry ? " 
 
 " I never thought about it at all," Alma replied, with a careless 
 laugh, striking a finger across the strings of the violin which she 
 held on her lap. 
 
 " We're generally told they shouldn't," pursued Dymes, in a 
 voice which had lost its noisy confidence, and was a little uncer- 
 tain. "But it all depends, you know, If people mean by mar- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 67 
 
 riage the ordinary kind of thing — of course, that's the deuce. But 
 it needn't be. Lots of people marry nowadays and live in a 
 rational way — no house, or bother of that kind ; just going about 
 as they like, and having a pleasant, reasonable life. It's easy 
 enough with a little money. Sometimes they're a good deal of 
 help to each other ; I know people who manage to be." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say," said Alma when he paused. " It all depends, 
 as you say. You're going on to Italy at once ? " 
 
 Her half-veiled eyes seemed to conceal amusement, and there 
 was good-humoured disdain in the setting of her lips. With 
 audacity so incredible that it all but made her laugh, Dymes, not 
 heeding her inquiry, jerked out the personal application of his 
 abstract remarks. Yes, it was a proposal of marriage — marriage 
 on the new plan, without cares or encumbrance ; a suggestion 
 rather than a petition ; off-hand, unsentimental, yet perfectly seri- 
 ous, as look and tone proclaimed. 
 
 " There's much to be said for your views," Alma replied, with 
 humorous gravity, " but I haven't the least intention of marrying." 
 
 "Well, I've mentioned it.'' He waved his hand as if to over- 
 come an unwonted embarrassment. " You don't mind ? " 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " I hope we shall meet again before long, and — some day, you 
 know — you may see the thing in another light. You mustn't 
 think I'm joking." 
 
 " But it is rather a joke." 
 
 " No ; I never was more in earnest about anything, believe me. 
 And I'm convinced it's a good idea. However, you know one 
 thing — if I can be of use to you, I shall. I'll think it over — your 
 chances and so on ; something may suggest itself. You're not 
 cut out for everyday things." 
 
 " I try to hope not." 
 
 " Ah, but you can take my word for it. " 
 
 With this comforting assurance, Felix Dymes departed. No 
 melodrama ; a hand-grip, a significant nod, a loud humming as he 
 went downstairs. 
 
 Alma presently began a new letter to Sibyl Carnaby. It was 
 written in a cheery humour, though touched by the shadow of 
 distressful circumstance. She told the story of Mr. Dymes's 
 visit, and made merry over it. " I am sure this is the very newest 
 
68 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 thing in ' proposals.' Though I live in such a dull, lonely way, it 
 has made me feel that I am still in touch with civilisation. And 
 really, if the worst come to the worst — but it's dangerous to joke 
 about such things." She touched lightly on the facts of her posi- 
 tion. " I'm afraid I have not been doing very much. Perhaps 
 this is a fallow time with me ; I may be gaining strength for great 
 achievements. Unfortunately, I have a lazy companion. Miss 
 Steinfeld (you know her from my last letter, if you got it) only 
 pretends to work. I like her for her thorough goodness and her 
 intelligence ; but she is just a little melancholish, and so not 
 exactly the companion I need. Her idea just now is that we both 
 need ' change,' and she wants me to go with her to Bregenz, on 
 the Bodensee. Perhaps I shall when the weather gets hot." 
 
 It had surprised her to be told by Feli.x Dymes that he obtained 
 her address at Munich from Miss Leach, for the only person in 
 England to whom she had yet made known her departure from 
 Liepzig was her step-mother. Speak of her how they might, her 
 acquaintances in London still took trouble to inform themselves of 
 her movements. Perhaps the very completeness of the catastrophe 
 in which she was involved told in her favour ; possibly she ex- 
 cited much more interest than could ever have attached to her 
 whilst her name was respected. There was new life in the 
 thought. She wrote briefly to Dora Leach, giving an account of 
 herself, which, though essentially misleading, was not composed in 
 a spirit of conscious falsehood. For all her vanity. Alma had 
 never aimed at effect by practice of deliberate insincerities. Miss 
 Leach was informed that her friend could not find much time for 
 correspondence. "I am living in the atmosphere of art, and 
 striving patiently. Some day you shall hear of me." And when 
 the letter was posted, Alma mused long on the effect it would 
 produce. 
 
 With the distinguished violinist, the friend of Herr Wilenski, 
 spoken of to Mrs. Frothingham, she had as yet held no communi- 
 cation, and through the days of early summer she continued to 
 neglect her music. Indolence grew upon her; sometimes she 
 spent the whole day in a dressing-gown, seated or reclining, with a 
 book in her hand, or totally unoccupied. Sometimes the military 
 bands in the public gardens tempted her to walk a Httle, or she 
 strolled with Miss Steinfeld through the picture galleries ; occa- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 69 
 
 sionally they made short excursions into the' country. The art 
 student had acquaintances in Munich, but did not see much of 
 them, and they were not the kind of people with whom Alma 
 cared to associate. 
 
 In July it was decided that they should go for a few weeks to 
 Bregenz ; their health called for the change, which, as Miss Stein- 
 feld knew of a homely pension, could be had at small expense. 
 Before their departure the art student was away for a few days, 
 and, to relieve the dreariness of an existence which was becoming 
 burdensome, Alma went out alone one afternoon, purposing a 
 trip by steam-tram to the gardens at Nymphenburg. She walked 
 to the Stiglmeyerplatz, where the tram starts, and there stood 
 waiting. A carriage drove past, with a sound of English voices, 
 which drew her attention. She saw three children, a lady, and a 
 gentleman. The last-mentioned looked at her, and she recognised 
 Cyrus Redgrave. Whether he knew her face seemed uncertain. 
 Hoping to escape unobserved, she turned quickly, and walked a 
 few yards. Before she faced round again, a quick footstep ap- 
 proached her, and the next moment Mr. Redgrave stood, hat in 
 hand, courteously claiming her acquaintance. 
 
 " I thought I could not possibly be mistaken ! " 
 
 The carriage, having stopped for him to alight, was driving 
 away. 
 
 " That is my sister and her children," said Redgrave, when he 
 had warmly shaken hands and expressed his pleasure at the 
 meeting. " You never met her. Her husband is in India, and 
 you see me in full domesticity. This morning I posted a note to 
 you ; of course, you haven't received it yet.'' 
 
 Alma did her best to behave with dignity. In any case it would 
 have been trying to encounter such a man as Redgrave — wealthy, 
 elegant, a figure in society, who must necessarily regard her as 
 banished from polite circles ; and in her careless costume she felt 
 more than abashed. For the first time a sense of degradation, of 
 social inferiority, threatened to overwhelm her self-respect. 
 
 " How did you know my address ? " she asked, with an invol- 
 untary imitation of hauteur, made pathetic by the flush on her face 
 and the lingering half-smile. 
 
 " Mrs. Frothingham kindly gave it me. — You were walking this 
 way, I think ?— My sister is living at Stuttgart, and I happened to 
 
JO THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 come over just in time to act as her courier on a journey to Salz- 
 burg. We got here yesterday, and go on to-morrow, or the day 
 after. I dropped you a note, asking if I might call." 
 
 " Where have you seen mamma lately ? " asked Alma, barely 
 attentive to the explanations he was giving her. 
 
 " In London, quite by chance. In fact, it was at Waterloo 
 Station. Mrs, Frothingham was starting for the country, and I 
 happened to be going to Wimbledon. I told her I might possibly 
 see you on my way through Munich." 
 
 Alma began to recover herself. That Cyrus Redgrave should 
 still take an interest in her was decidedly more gratifying than the 
 eccentric compliment of Felix Dymes. She strove to forget the 
 humiliation of having been found standing in a public place, wait- 
 ing for a tram-car. In Redgrave's manner no change was percep- 
 tible, unless, indeed, he spoke with more cordiality, which must be 
 prompted by kind feeling. Their acquaintance covered only a 
 year or two, and had scarcely amounted to what passes for friend- 
 ship, but Redgrave seemed oblivious of late unpleasant events. 
 
 " I'm glad you didn't call unexpectedly," she said, trying to 
 strike a light note. "I'm a student now — no longer an amateur — 
 and live as a student must." 
 
 " So much the better. I'm a natural bohemian myself, and like 
 nothing so well as to disregard ceremony. And, by-the-bye, 
 that's the very reason why I ran away from my sister to speak to 
 you ; I knew you would dislike formalities. I'm afraid I was 
 rather glad than otherwise to escape. We have been taking the 
 children for a drive — charming little rascals, but for the moment 
 my domestic instincts are satisfied. Mrs. Frothingham mentioned 
 that you were living with a friend — an art student." 
 
 " We go away for a holiday in a day or two," said Alma, more 
 at her ease. " To Bregenz — do you know it ? " 
 
 " By name only. You go in a day or two ? I wish you would 
 let me know your address there," he added, with frank friend- 
 liness. " I go on with my sister to Salzburg, and then turn off on 
 my own account ; I might be able to pass your way, and I should 
 so much like to have a talk with you — a real talk, about music 
 and all sorts of things. Did I ever tell you of my little place at 
 Riva, head of Lake Garda ? Cosy little nook, but I'm not there 
 very often ; I half thought of going for a week or two's quietness. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 71 
 
 Quite cool there by the lake. But I really must try to see you at 
 Bregenz — do let me." 
 
 He begged it as a favour, a privilege, and Alma without hesita- 
 tion told him where she would be living. 
 
 " For a few weeks ? Oh, then, I shall make a point of coming 
 that way. You're not working too hard, I hope ? I know you 
 don't do things by halves. When I first heard you were going in 
 seriously for music, I said to myself, ' Tant mieux, another great 
 violinist ! ' " 
 
 The listener reddened with delight ; her step became elastic ; 
 she carried . her head gallantly, and feared not the glances Red- 
 grave cast at her. 
 
 " I have learnt not to talk about myself," she said, bestowing a 
 smile upon him. " That's the first bad habit to be overcome by 
 the amateur converted." 
 
 " Capital ! An axiom worth putting into print, for the benefit 
 of all and sundry. Now I must say good-bye ; that fellow yonder 
 will take me back to the domesticities." He hailed an empty car- 
 riage. "We shall meet again among the mountains. Auf 
 Wiedersehn ! " 
 
 Alma continued to walk along the Nymphenburg road, uncon- 
 scious of external things. The tram for which she had been wait- 
 ing passed by ; she no longer cared to go out into the country. 
 It was enough to keep moving in the bright sunshine, and to think 
 her thoughts. 
 
 No ; people had by no means forgotten her. Whilst she was 
 allowing herself to fall into gloom and indolence, her acquaintances, 
 it was evident, made her a constant subject of talk, of speculation ; 
 just what she had desired, but had lost courage to believe. They 
 expected great things of her; her personal popularity and her 
 talents had prevailed against the most prejudicial circumstance ; 
 people did not think of her as the daughter of Bennet Frothing- 
 ham, — unless to contrast the hopefulness of her future with the 
 black calamity that lay behind. 
 
 She waxed philosophical. How everything in this world tends 
 to good ! At her father's death she had mourned bitterly ; it had 
 struck her to the heart ; his imprudence (she could never use, even 
 in thought, a harsher word) pained more than it shamed her, and 
 not a day passed but she sorrowed over the dishonour that dark- 
 
72 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 ened his memory. Yet were not these woes and disasters the 
 beginning of a new life for her ? In prosperity, what would she 
 ever have become ? Nothing less than being thrown out into the 
 world would have given her the impulse needed to realise a high 
 ambition. " Tant mieux, another great violinist ! " How sin- 
 cerely, how inspiringly, it was said ! 
 
 And Alma's feet had brought her home again before she paused 
 to reflect that, for all purposes of ambition, the past half-year had 
 been utterly wasted. Never mind ; after her return from Bre- 
 genz ! 
 
 On her table lay Redgrave's note ; a very civil line or two, 
 requesting permission to call. There was another letter, black- 
 bordered, which came from her stepmother. Mrs. Frothingham 
 said that she had been about to write for several days, but all sorts 
 of disagreeable business had hindered her ; even now, she could 
 only write hurriedly. In the last fortnight she had had to go twice 
 to London. " And really I think I shall be obliged to go and live 
 there again, for a time ; so many things have to be seen to. It 
 might be best, perhaps, if I took a small flat. I was going to say, 
 however, that the last time I went up, I met Mr. Redgrave, and 
 we had quite a long talk — about yon. He was most sincerely in- 
 terested in your future ; indeed it quite surprised me, for I will con- 
 fess that I had never had a very high opinion of him. I fancy he 
 suffered no loss. His behaviour to me was that of a gentleman, 
 very different from that of some people I could name. But it was 
 you he spoke of most. He said he was shortly going to Germany, 
 and begged me to let him have your address, and really I saw no 
 harm in it. He may call upon you. If so, let me hear all about 
 it, for it will interest me very much.'' 
 
 Alma had half a mind to reply at once, but on reflection decided 
 to wait. After all, Mr. Redgrave might not keep his promise of 
 coming to see her at Bregenz, and in that event a very brief report 
 of what had happened would suffice. But she felt sure that he 
 meant to come. 
 
 And decidedly she hoped it ; why, she was content to leave a 
 rosy vagueness. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 73 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Alma and her German friend silently agreed in foreseeing that 
 they would not live together much longer. Miss Steinfeld, eager 
 at first to talk English, was relapsing into her native tongue, and 
 as Alma lazily avoided German, they conversed in different lan- 
 guages, each with a sprinkling of foreign phrase. The English 
 girl might have allied herself with a far worse companion ; for, in 
 spite of defects which resembled Alma's own, vagueness of pur- 
 pose, infirmity of will, Miss Steinfeld had a fund of moral princi- 
 ple which made her talk wholesome and her aspirations an 
 influence for good. She imagined herself in love with an artist 
 whom she had seen only two or three times, and no strain could 
 have been more exalted than that in which she confided her 
 romance to the sympathetic Alma. Sympathetic, that is, within 
 her limits ; for Miss Frothingham had never been in love, and 
 rarely indulged a mood of sentiment. Her characteristic emotions 
 she of course did not reveal, save unconsciously, and Miss Stein- 
 feld knew nothing of the tragic circumstances which explained her 
 friend's solitude. 
 
 In the first days at Bregenz they felt a renewal of pleasure in 
 each other's society ; Alma's spirits were much improved ; she en- 
 joyed the scenery, and lived in the open air. There was climbing 
 of mountains, the Pfander with its reward of noble outlook, and 
 the easier Gebhardsberg, with its hanging woods ; there was boat- 
 ing on the lake, and rambling along its shores, with rest and re- 
 freshment at some Gartenwithschaft. Miss Steinfeld, whose read- 
 ing and intelligence were superior to Alma's, liked to explore the 
 Roman ruins and linger in the museum. Alma could not long 
 keep up a pretence of interest in the relics of Brigantium ; but she 
 said one day, with a smile — 
 
 " I know some one who would enjoy this kind of thing — an 
 Englishman — very learned " 
 
 " Old ? " inquired her friend significantly. 
 
 '< Yes— no. Neither old nor young. A strange man ; rather 
 interesting. I've a good mind," she added mischievously, " to 
 send him a photograph." 
 
74 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Of yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! He wouldn't care for that. A view of the Alt- 
 Stadt." 
 
 And in her mood of frolic she acted upon the thought. She 
 purchased two or three views, had them done up for post, and ad- 
 dressed them to Harvey Rolfe, Esq., at the Metropolitan Club ; 
 for his private address she could not remember, but the club re- 
 mained in her mind from Sibyl's talk of it. When the packet was 
 'gone, of course she regretted having sent it. More Hkely than 
 not, Mr. Rolfe considered himself to have ended all acquaintance 
 with the disgraced family, and, if he recognised her handwriting, 
 would just throw the photographs aside. Let him ; it mattered 
 nothing, one way or the other. 
 
 When a week had passed, the novelty of things wore off ; the 
 friends began to wander apart ; Miss Steinfeld made acquaintances 
 in the pension, and Alma drifted into solitude. At the end of a 
 fortnight she was tired of everything, wished to go away, thought 
 longingly of England. It was plain that Mr. Redgrave would not 
 come ; he had never seriously meant it ; his Auf Wiedersehn 
 was a mere civility to get rid of her in the street. Why had he 
 troubled to inquire about her at all ? Of course it didn't matter 
 — nothing mattered — but if ever she met him again ! Alma tried 
 her features in expression of cold scornfulness. 
 
 On the next day, as she was returning from an idle "walk with 
 her friend along the Lindau road, Mr. Redgrave met them. He 
 was dressed as she had never seen him, in flannels, with a white 
 necktie loosely knotted and a straw hat. Not till he had come 
 near enough to salute did she recognise him ; he looked ten years 
 younger. 
 
 They talked as if the meeting were of daily occurrence. Red- 
 grave addressed himself to Miss Steinfeld as often as to Alma, 
 and showed a graceful command of decorous commonplace. He 
 had arrived early this morning, had put up at the Oesterreichischer 
 Hof, was already delighted with Bregenz. Did Miss Steinfeld de- 
 vote herself to landscape.'' Had she done anything here? Had 
 Miss Frothingham brought her violin ? They strolled pleasantly 
 to the Hafen promenade, and parted at length with assurances 
 of meeting again, as if definite appointment were needless. 
 
 " That is my idea of the English gentleman," said Miss Stein- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 75 
 
 feld afterwards. " I think I should have taken him for a lord. 
 No doubt he is very rich ? " 
 
 " Oh, pretty well off," Alma replied, with assumed indifference. 
 " Ten thousand pounds a year, I dare say." 
 
 " Ten thousand ! Lieber Himmel ! And married .' " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " In Parliament, I suppose ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then, what does he do ? " 
 
 " Oh, amuses himself." 
 
 Each became occupied with her thoughts. Alma's were so 
 agreeable, that Miss Steinfeld, observing her, naturally fell into 
 romantic speculation. 
 
 Redgrave easily contrived that his next walk should be with 
 Miss Frothingham alone. He overtook her next morning, soon 
 after she had left the house, and they rambled in the Gebhardsberg 
 direction. 
 
 " Now let us have the promised talk," he began, at a favourable 
 moment. " I've been thinking about you all the time.'' 
 
 " Did you go to your place on Lake Garda ? " 
 
 " Yes ; just to look at it, and get it put in order. I hope to be 
 there again before long. You didn't doubt I should come ? " 
 
 " You left it uncertain." 
 
 " To be sure. Life is uncertain. But I should have been 
 desperately disappointed if I hadn't found you here. There are 
 so many things to be said about going in for music as a profession. 
 You have the talent, you have the physical strength, I think." His 
 eye flattered her from head to foot. " But, to be a great artist, 
 one must have more than technical qualifications. It's the soul 
 that must be developed." 
 
 Alma laughed. 
 
 " I know it. And what is your receipt for developing the 
 soul ? " 
 
 Redgrave paused in his walk. Smiling, he gave a twist to his 
 moustache, and appeared to meditate profoundly. 
 
 " The soul — well, it has a priggish sound. Let us say the char- 
 acter ; and that is developed through experience of life." 
 
 " I'm getting it." 
 
 " Are you ? In the company of Miss Steinfeld ? I'm afraid 
 
76 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 that won't carry you very far. Experience means emotion ; cer- 
 tainly, for a woman. Believe me, you haven't begun to live yet. 
 You may practice on your violin day and night, and it won't profit 
 you — until you have lived." 
 
 Alma was growing serious. These phrases harmonised well 
 enough with her own insubstantial thoughts and idly gathered 
 notions. When preparing to escape from England, she had used 
 much the same language. But, after all, what did it mean ? 
 What, in particular, did Cyrus Redgrave mean, with his expressive 
 eyes, and languid, earnest tone ? 
 
 " You will say that a girl has few opportunities. True, thanks 
 to her enslavement by society." 
 
 " I care nothing for society," Alma interposed. 
 
 " Good ! I like the sound of that defiance ; it has the right 
 ring. A man hasn't often the pleasure of hearing that from a wo- 
 man he can respect. It's easy, of course, to defy the laws of a 
 world one doesn't belong to ; but you, who are a queen in your 
 circle, and may throne, at any moment, in a wider sphere — it 
 means much when you refuse to bow down before the vulgar 
 idols, to be fettered by superstitions." 
 
 His aim was dark to her, but she tasted the compliment which 
 ignored her social ecHpse. Redgrave's conversation generally 
 kept on the prosaic levels— studiously polite, or suavely cynical. 
 It was a new experience to see him borne on a wave of rhetoric ; 
 yet not borne away, for he spoke with an ease, a self-command, 
 which to older ears would have suggested skill rather than feeling. 
 He had nothing of the ardour of youth ; his poise and deliberation 
 were quite in keeping with the two-score years that subtly graved 
 his visage ; the passions in him were sportive, half-fantastical, as 
 though, together with his brain, they had grown to a ripe worldli- 
 ness. He inspired no distrust ; his good-nature seemed all-per- 
 vading ; he had the air of one who lavishes disinterested counsel, 
 and ever so little exalts himself with his facile exuberance of 
 speech. 
 
 " I have seen much of artists ; known them intimately, and 
 studied their lives. One and all, they date their success from some 
 passionate experience. From a cold and conventional existence 
 can come nothing but cold and conventional art. You left Eng- 
 land, broke away from the common routine, from the artificial and 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 77 
 
 the respectable. That was an indispensable first step, and I have 
 told you how I applauded it. But you cannot stop at this. I 
 begin to fear for you. There is a convention of unconvention- 
 ality : poor quarters, hard life, stinted pleasures — all that kind of 
 thing. I fear its effect upon you." 
 
 " What choice have I ? " exclaimed Alma, moved to familiar 
 frankness. " If I am poor, I must live poorly." 
 
 He smiled graciously upon her, and raised his hand almost as 
 though he would touch her with reassuring kindness ; but it was 
 only to stroke his trimmed beard. 
 
 " Oh, you have a choice, believe me," came his airy answer. 
 " There's no harm in poverty that doesn't last too long. You may 
 
 have profited by it ; it is an experience. But now Don't let 
 
 us walk so far as to tire you. Yes, we will turn. Variety of life, 
 travel, all sorts of joys and satisfactions — these are the things you 
 need." 
 
 " And if ihey are not within my reach ? " she asked, without 
 looking at him. 
 
 " By-the-bye " — he disregarded her question — " your friend, 
 Mrs. Carnaby, has taken a long flight." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The monosyllable was dropped. Alma walked with her eyes 
 on the ground, trailing her sunshade. 
 
 " I didn't think she had much taste for travel. But you know 
 her so much better than I do." 
 
 " She is enjoying herself," said Alma. 
 
 " No need for yot{ to go so far. Down yonder ' — he nodded 
 southward — " I was thinking, the other day, of the different kinds 
 of pleasure one gets from scenery in different parts of the world. I 
 have seen the tropics ; they left me very much where I was, intel- 
 lectually. It's the human associations of natural beauty that 
 count. You have no desire to go to the islands of the Pacific } " 
 
 " I can't say that I have." 
 
 " Of course not. The springs of art are in the old world. 
 Among the vines and the olives one hears a voice. I must really 
 ti7 to give you some idea of my little place at Riva." 
 
 He began a playful description— long, but never tedious ; allur- 
 ing, yet without enthusiasm— a dreamy suggestion of refined 
 delights and luxuries. 
 
78 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " I have another place in the Pyrenees, to suit another mood ; 
 and not long ago I was sorely tempted by the offer of a house not 
 far from Antioch, in the valley of the Orontes — a house built by an 
 Englishman. Charming place, and so entirely off the beaten track. 
 Isn't there a fascination in the thought of living near Antioch ? 
 Well away from bores and philistines. No Mrs. Grundy with her 
 clinking tea-cups. I dare say the house is still to be had. — Oh, do 
 tell me something about your friend, Fraulein Steinfeld. Is she 
 in earnest } Will she do anything ? " 
 
 His eloquence was at an end. Thenceforward he talked of 
 common things in unemotional language ; and when Alma parted 
 from him, it was with a sense of being tired and disappointed. 
 
 On the following day she did not see him at all. He could not 
 have left Bregenz, for, of course, he would have let her know. 
 She thought of him incessantly, reviewing all his talk, turning over 
 this and that ambiguous phrase, asking herself whether he meant 
 much or little. It was natural that she should compare and con- 
 trast his behaviour with that of Felix Dyraes. If his motive were 
 not the same, why did he seek her society ? And if it were .' If 
 at length he spoke out, summing his hints in the plain offer of all 
 those opportunities she lacked ? 
 
 A brilliant temptation. To leave the world as Alma Frothing- 
 ham, and to return to it as Mrs. Cyrus Redgrave ! 
 
 But, in that event, what of her musical ambitions ? He spoke 
 of her art as the supreme concern, to which all else must be sub- 
 ordinate. And surely that was his meaning when he threw scorn 
 upon " bores and philistines." Why should the fact of his wealth 
 interfere with her progress as an artist } Possibly, on the other 
 hand, he did not intend that she should follow a professional 
 career. Cannot one be a great artist without standing on public 
 platforms ? Was it his lordly thought to foster her talents for his 
 own delectation and that of the few privileged ? 
 
 Her brain grew confused with interpreting and picturing. But 
 once more she had made an advance in .self-esteem. She could 
 await the next meeting with a confidence and pride very unlike her 
 sensations in the Stiglmeyerplatz at Munich. 
 
 It took place on the second day. This time Redgrave did not 
 wait upon accident ; he sent a note, begging that he might have 
 the pleasure of another talk with her. He would call at a certain 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 79 
 
 hour, and take his chance of finding her at home. When he pre- 
 sented himself. Alma was sitting in the common room of the 
 pension with two German ladies ; they in a few minutes withdrew, 
 and familiar conversation became possible. As the windows stood 
 open, and there were chairs upon the balcony, Redgrave shortly 
 proposed a move in that direction. They sat together for half-an- 
 hour. 
 
 When Redgrave took his leave, it was without shaking of hands 
 — with no Auf Wiedersehn. He smiled, he murmured civilities ; 
 Alma neither smiled nor spoke. She was pale, and profoundly 
 agitated. 
 
 So this was his meaning ?— made plain enough at last, though with 
 the most graceful phrasing. Childish vanity and ignorance had 
 forbidden her to dream of such an issue. She had not for a mo- 
 ment grasped the significance to a man of the world of the ruin 
 and disgrace fallen upon her family. In theory she might call her- 
 self an exile from the polite world ; none the less did she imagine 
 herself still illumined by the social halo, guarded by the divinity 
 which doth hedge a member of the upper-middle class. Was she 
 not a lady .' And who had ever dared to offer a lady an insult 
 such as this .' Shop-girls, minor actresses, the inferior sort of 
 governess, must naturally be on their guard ; their insecurity was 
 traditional ; novel and drama represented tjieir moral vicissitudes. 
 But a lady, who had lived in a great house with many servants, 
 who had founded an Amateur Quartet Society, the hem of whose 
 garment had never been touched with irreverent finger — could 
 she stand in peril of such indignity ? ' 
 
 Not till now had she called to mind the forewarnings of Sibyl 
 Carnaby, which, at the time of hearing them, she did not at all un- 
 derstand. " People," said Sibyl, " would approach her with strange 
 ideas." This she might have applied to the grotesque proposal 
 (as it seemed to her) of Felix Dymes, or to the risk of being 
 tempted into premature publicity by a business offer from some 
 not very respectable impresario. What Sibyl meant was now only 
 too clear ; but how little could Mrs. Carnaby have imagined that 
 her warning would be justified by one of her own friends — by a 
 man of wealth and consideration. 
 
 She durst not leave the house for fear of encountering Red- 
 grave, who, if they crossed by chance, might fancy she invited an- 
 
8o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 other meeting. She dreaded the observation of women, especially 
 of Miss Steinfeld. The only retreat was her bedroom, and here 
 she secluded herself till dinner-time. At this meal she must needs 
 face the company or incur remark. She tried to return her friend's 
 smile with the ordinary unconcern. After dinner there was no 
 avoiding Miss Steinfeld, whose air of extreme discretion showed 
 that she had an inkling of events, and awaited confidences. 
 
 " Mr. Redgrave has gone — he called to say good-bye.'' 
 
 "So?" 
 
 Irritated by self-consciousness, revolting against a misinterpre- 
 tation which would injure her vanity, though it was not hkely to 
 aim at her honour. Alma had recourse to fiction. 
 
 " I daresay you guess ? — Yes, and I refused." 
 
 Miss Steinfeld was puzzled. It did not astonish her that a girl 
 should reject ten thousand pounds per annum, for that she was 
 too high-minded ; but she had thought it beyond doubt that Alma's 
 heart was engaged. Here, it had seemed to her, was the expla- 
 nation of a mystery attaching to this original young Englishwoman . 
 unhoped, the brilliant lover, the secretly beloved, had sought her 
 in her retirement. And, after all, it was a mistake. 
 
 " I don't care for him a bit," Alma went on. " It had to be got 
 over and done with, that was all." 
 
 She felt ashamed of herself. In childhood she had told false- 
 hoods freely, but with the necessity for that kind of thing the habit 
 had fallen away. Solace, however, was at hand, for the German 
 girl looked at her with a new interest, a new sympathy, which Alma 
 readily construed as wonder and admiration, if not gentle envy. 
 To have refused an offer of marriage from a handsome man of 
 great wealth might be counted for glory. And Alma's momen- 
 tary shame yielded to a gratification which put her outwardly at 
 ease. 
 
 The restless night brought torment of the mind and harassed 
 spirits. Redgrave's proposal echoed in the vacant chambers of 
 her life, sounding no longer an affront, but an allurement. Why, 
 indeed, had she repelled it so unthinkingly ? It did not necessarily 
 mean scandal. He had not invited her to open defiance of the 
 world. " You can absolutely trust me ; I am discretion itself. All 
 resources are at my command." Why had she rejected with scorn 
 and horror what was, perhaps, her great opportunity, the one hope 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 8i 
 
 of her struggling and sinking ambition ? Slie had lost faith in her- 
 self ; in her power to overcome circumstances, not yet in her talent, 
 in her artistic birthright. Redgrave would have made her path 
 smooth. " I promise you a great reputation in two or three years' 
 time."' And without disgrace, without shadow of suspicion, it 
 would all be managed, he declared, so very easily. For what 
 ■alternative had she rebuffed him ? 
 
 Redgrave's sagacity had guided him well up to a certain point, 
 but it had lost sight _of one thing essential to the success of his 
 scheme. Perhaps because he was forty years of age, perhaps be- 
 cause he had so often come and seen and conquered, perhaps be- 
 cause he made too low an estimate of Bennet Frothingham's 
 daughter, — he simply overlooked sentimental considerations. It 
 was a great and a fatal oversight. He went far in his calculated 
 appeal to Alma's vanity ; had he but credited her with softer pas- 
 sions, and given himself the trouble to play upon them, he would 
 not, at all events, have suffered so sudden a defeat. Men of Red- 
 grave's stamp grow careless, and just at the time of life when, for 
 various causes, the art which conceals art has become indispensable. 
 He did not flatter himself that Alma was ready to fall in love 
 with him ; and here his calm maturity served him ill. To his own 
 defect of ardour he was blinded by habit. After all, the affair had 
 little consequence. It had only suggested itself after the meeting 
 in Munich, and perhaps — he said to himself — all things considered, 
 the event was just as well. 
 
 But Alma felt the double insult, to her worldly honour, to her 
 womanhood. The man had not even made pretence of loving 
 her ; and this, whilst it embittered her disappointment, strength- 
 ened her to cast from mind the baser temptation. Marriage she 
 would have accepted, though doubtless with becoming hesitancy ; 
 the offer could not have been made without one word of tender- 
 ness (for Cyrus Redgrave was another than Felix Dymes), and she 
 had not felt it impossible to wed this polished capitalist. Out of 
 the tumult of her feelings, as another day went by, issued at length 
 that one simple and avowable sense of disappointment. She had 
 grasped the prize, and heated her imagination in regarding it ; had 
 overcome natural reluctances, objections personal and moral ; was 
 ready to sit down and write to Mrs. Frothingham the splendid, 
 startling announcement. And here she idled in her bedroom. 
 
82 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 desolate, hopeless, wishing she had courage to steal down at night 
 to the waters of the Bodensee, and end it all. 
 
 On the third day she returned to Munich, having said farewell to 
 her friend, who was quite prepared for the parting. From Munich 
 she proceeded to Leipzig, and there entered again the family circle 
 of the Gassners. She had no intention of staying for very long ; 
 the pretence of musical study could not be kept up ; but her next 
 step was quite uncertain. 
 
 A fortnight later, Mrs. Frothingham wrote thus : — 
 
 " I am sending you on a letter which, if I am not mistaken, 
 comes from Mr. Rolfe. Do tell me if I am right. Odd that he 
 should write to you, if it is he. You have not told me yet whether 
 you saw Mr. Redgrave again. But I see that you don't care 
 much, and perhaps it is as well." 
 
 The forwarded letter had been originally addressed to the care 
 of Mrs. Frothingham, and Alma, at a glance, recognised Harvey 
 Rolfe's writing. He dated from London. Was he mistaken, he 
 began, in thinking that certain photographs from Bregenz had 
 come to him by Miss Frothingham's kindness ? For his part, he 
 had spent June in a ramble in south-west France, chiefly by the 
 Dordogne, and through a strange, interesting bit of marsh-country, 
 called La Double. " I hardly know how I got there, and I shall 
 not worry you by writing any account of the expedition. But at a 
 miserable village called La Roche Chalais, where I had a most in- 
 digestible supper and a bed unworthy of the name, I managed to 
 fall ill, and quite seriously thought, ' Ah, here is the end ! ' It has 
 to come somewhere, and why not on a grabat at La Roche Cha- 
 lais ? A mistake ; I am here again, wasting life as strenuously as 
 ever. Would you let me hear from you } I should think it a 
 great addition to your kindness in sending the views.'' And so, 
 with every good wish, he remained, &c. 
 
 Having nothing better to do. Alma got out a map of France, 
 and searched for La Roche Chalais ; but the place was too insig- 
 nificant to be marked. On the morrow, being still without occu- 
 pation, she answered Rolfe's letter, and in quite a playful vein. 
 She had no time to correspond with people who " wasted their 
 lives." To her, life was a serious matter enough. But he knew 
 nothing of the laborious side of a musician's existence, and pro- 
 bably doubted its reality. As an afterthought, she thanked him 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 83 
 
 gravely for his letter, and hoped that some day, when she had 
 really " done something," they might meet and renew their friend- 
 ship. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 On an afternoon in September, Harvey Rolfe spent half-an-hour 
 at a certain London bookseller's, turning over books that dealt 
 with the theory and practice of elementary education. Two or 
 three of them he selected, and ordered to be sent to a lady at 
 Gunnersbury. On his way out he came upon an acquaintance 
 making a purchase in another department of the shop. It was 
 some months since he had seen Cecil Morphew, who looked in in- 
 different health, and in his dress came near to shabbiness. They 
 passed out together, Morphew carrying an enwrapped volume, 
 which he gave Rolfe to understand was a birthday present — for 
 her. The elder man resisted his inclination to joke, and asked 
 how things were going on. 
 
 " Much the same as usual, except that her father is in very bad 
 health. It's brutal, but I wish he would die." 
 
 " Naturally.'' 
 
 " That's what one's driven to, you see. And any one but you, 
 who know me, would set me down as a selfish, calculating beast. 
 Can't help it. I had rather have her penniless. — Will you come in 
 here with me ? I want to buy some pyrogallic acid." 
 
 In the street again, Morphew mentioned that he had taken up 
 photography. 
 
 " It gives me something to do, audit takes me out into the open- 
 air. This beastly town is the ruin of me, in every way. — Come to 
 my rooms for an hour, will you.' I'll show you some attempts; 
 I've only just tried my hand at developing. And it's a long time 
 since we had a talk.'' 
 
 They made for a Chelsea omnibus and mounted. 
 
 " I thought you were never in town at this time," Morphew re- 
 sumed. " I want to get away, but can't afford it ; devilish low 
 water with me. I must have a bicycle. With that and the cam- 
 era I may just manage to live ;■ often there seems little enough to 
 live for. — Tripcony ? Oh, Tripcony's a damned swindler; I've 
 
84 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 given him up. Speculation isn't quite so simple as I imagined. I 
 made a couple of hundred, though — yes, and lost nearly three." 
 
 The young man's laugh was less pleasant to hear than formerly. 
 Altogether, Rolfe observed in him a decline, a loss of refinement 
 as well as of vitality. 
 
 "Why don't you go into the country?" he said. "Take a 
 cottage and grow cabbages ; dig for three hours a day. It would 
 do you no end of good.'' 
 
 " Of course it would. I wish I had the courage." 
 
 " I'm going to spend the winter in Wales," said Harvey. " An 
 out-of-the-world place in Carnarvonshire — mountains and sea. 
 Come along with me, and get the mephitis blown out of you. 
 You've got town disease, street-malaria, lodging-house fever. " 
 
 " By Jove, I'll think of it," replied the other, with a strange look 
 of eagerness. " But I don't know whether I can. No, I can't be 
 sure. But I'll try. 
 
 " What holds you ? " 
 
 " Well, I like to be near, you know, to her. And then — all 
 sorts of difficulties " 
 
 Morphew had his lodgings at present in a street near Chelsea 
 Hospital, a poor-looking place, much inferior to those in which 
 Rolfe had formerly seen him. His two rooms were at the top, 
 and he had converted a garret into a dark chamber for his photo- 
 graphic amusement. Dirt and disorder made the sitting-room 
 very uninviting ; Rolfe looked about him, and wondered what 
 principle of corruption was at work in the young man's life. 
 
 Morphew showed a new portrait of his betrothed, Henrietta 
 Winter ; a comely face, shadowed with pensiveness. " Taken at 
 Torquay ; she sent it a day or two ago. — I've been thinking of 
 giving her up. If I do, I shall do it brutally and savagely, to 
 make it easy for her. I've spoilt her life, and I'm pretty sure I've 
 ruined my own." 
 
 He brought out a bottle of whisky and half filled two tumblers. 
 His own measure he very slightly diluted, and drank it off at once. 
 
 " You're at a bad pass, my boy," remarked Rolfe. " What's 
 wrong ? Something more than usual, I know. Make a clean 
 breast of it." 
 
 Morphew continued to declare that he was only low-spirited 
 from the long-standing causes, and, though Rolfe did not believe 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 85 
 
 him, nothing more could at present be elicited. The talk turned 
 to photography, but still had no life in it. 
 
 " I think you had better dine with me this evening," said 
 Harvey. 
 
 " Impossible. I wish I could. An engagement." 
 
 The young man shuffled about, and after a struggle with em- 
 barrassment, aided by another tumbler of whisky, threw out some- 
 thing he wished to say. 
 
 " It's deuced hard to ask you, but — will you lend me some 
 money ? " 
 
 " Of course. How much ? Why do you make such a sputter 
 about it ? " 
 
 " I've been making a fool of myself— got into difficulties. Will 
 you let me have fifty pounds ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you'll promise to clear at once out of this dust-bin, and 
 in a month or so come into Wales." 
 
 " You're an awfully good fellow, Rolfe, — and I'm a damned fool. 
 I promise ! I will ! I'll get out of it, and then I'll think about 
 breaking with that girl. Better for both of us — but you shall ad- 
 vise me.— I'll tell you everything some day. I can't now. I'm 
 too ashamed of myself." 
 
 When he got home, Harvey wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, 
 and posted it at once. 
 
 Not many days after, there came to him a letter from Mrs. 
 Frothinghara. With this lady he had held no communication 
 since the catastrophe of last November ; knowing not how to ad- 
 dress her without giving more pain than his sympathy could 
 counterbalance, he remained silent. She wrote from the neigh- 
 bourhood of Swiss Cottage, where she had taken a flat ; it was 
 her wish, if possible, to see him "on a matter of business," and 
 she requested that he would make an appointment. Much won- 
 dering in what business of Mrs. Frothingham's he could be con- 
 cerned, Harvey named his time, and went to pay the call. He as- 
 cended many stairs, and was conducted by a neat servant-maid 
 into a pleasant little drawing-room, where Mrs. Frothingham rose 
 to receive him. She searched his face, as if to discerfl the feeling 
 with which he regarded her, and her timid smile of reassurance 
 did not lack its pathos. 
 
 " Mr. Rolfe, it seems years since I saw you.'' 
 
86 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 She was aged a little, and her voice fell in broken notes, an un- 
 happy contrast to the gay, confident chirping of less than twelve 
 months ago. 
 
 " I have only been settled here for a week. I thought of leav- 
 ing London altogether, but, after all, I had to come backwards 
 and forwards so often — it was better to have a home here, and this 
 little flat will just suit me, I think." 
 
 She seemed desirous of drawing attention to its modest propor- 
 tions. 
 
 " I really don't need a house, and lodgings are so wretched. 
 These flats are a great blessing— don't you think.' I shall manage 
 here with one servant, only one." 
 
 Rolfe struggled with the difficulty of not knowing what to say. 
 There was nothing for it but to discourse as innocently as might 
 be on the advantages of flats, their increasing popularity, and the 
 special charms of this particular situation. Mrs. Frothingham 
 eagerly agreed with everything, and did her best to allow no 
 moment of silence. 
 
 " You ,have heard from Miss Frothingham, I think ? " she pre- 
 sently let fall, with a return of anxiety. 
 
 " Not very long ago. From Leipzig.'' 
 
 " Yes. Yes. — I don't know whether she will stay. there. You 
 know she is thinking of taking up music professionally.'' — Yes. 
 Yes. — I do so hope she will find it possible, but of course that kind 
 of career is so very uncertain. I'm not sure that I shouldn't be 
 glad if she turned to something else." 
 
 The widow was growing nervous and self-contradictory. With 
 a quick movement of her hands, she suddenly resumed in another 
 tone. 
 
 " Mr. Rolfe, I do so wish you would let me speak to you in confi- 
 dence. I want to ask your help in a most delicate matter. Not, 
 of course, about my step-daughter, though I shall have to men- 
 tion her. It is something quite personal to myself. If I could 
 hope that you wouldn't think it tiresome — I have a special reason 
 for appealing to you.'' 
 
 He would gladly, said Harvey, be of any use he could. 
 
 " I want to speak to you about painful things," pursued his hos- 
 tess, with an animation and emphasis which made her more like 
 the lady of Fitzjohn Avenue. " You know everything — except 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 87 
 
 my own position, and tiiat is what I wish_to explain to you. I 
 won't go into details. I will only say that a few years ago my 
 husband made over to me a large sum of money— I had none of 
 my own— and that it still belongs to me. I say belongs to me ; 
 but there is my trouble. I fear I have no right whatever to call it 
 mine. And there are people who have suffered such dreadful 
 losses. Some of them you know. There was a family named 
 Abbott. I wanted to ask you about them. Poor Mr. Abbott— I 
 remember reading " 
 
 She closed her eyes for an instant, and the look upon her face 
 told that this was no affectation of an anguished memory. 
 
 " It was accident," Rolfe hastened to say. " The jury found it 
 accidental death.'' 
 
 " But there was the loss— I read it all. He had lost everything. 
 Do tell me what became of his family. Some one told me they 
 were friends of yours." 
 
 " Happily they had no children. There was a small life-insur- 
 ance. Mrs. Abbott used to be a teacher, and she is going to take 
 that up again." 
 
 " Poor thing ! Is she quite young ? " 
 
 " Oh, about thirty, I should say." 
 
 " Will she go into a school ? " 
 
 " No. Private pupils at her own house. She has plenty of 
 courage, and will do fairly well, I think." 
 
 " Still, it is shocking that she should have lost all — her husband, 
 too, just at that dreadful time. — This is what I wanted to say, Mr. 
 Rolfe. Do you think it would be possible to ask her to accept 
 something — ? I do so feel," she hurried on, " that I ought to 
 make some sort of restitution — what I can — to those who lost 
 everything. I am told that things are not quite hopeless ; some- 
 thing may be recovered out of the wreck some day. But it will 
 be such a long time, and meanwhile people are suffering so. And 
 here am I left in comfort — more than comfort. It isn't right ; I 
 couldn't rest till I did something. I am glad to say that I have 
 been able to help a little here and there, but only the kind of peo- 
 ple whom it's easy to help. A case like Mrs. Abbott's is far 
 worse, yet there's such a difficulty in doing anything ; one might 
 only give offence. I'm sure my name must be hateful to her — as 
 it is to so many." 
 
88 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Rolfe listened with a secret surprise. He had never thought ill 
 of Mrs. Frothinghatn ; but, on the other hand, had never attributed 
 to her any save superficial qualities, a lightsome temper, pleasure 
 in hospitality, an easy good-nature towards all the people of her ac- 
 quaintance. He would not have supposed her capable of substan- 
 tial sacrifices ; least of all, on behalf of strangers and inspired by 
 a principle. She spoke with the simplest sincerity ; it was impos- 
 sible to suspect her motives. The careless liking with which he 
 had always regarded her was now infused with respect ; he be- 
 came gravely attentive, and answered in a softer voice. 
 
 " She was embittered at first, but is overcoming it. To tell you 
 the truth, I think she will benefit by this trial. I don't like the 
 words that are so often used in cant ; I don't believe that mis- 
 ery does any good to most people — indeed, I know very well 
 that it generally does harm. But Mrs. Abbott seems to be an ex- 
 ception ; she has a good deal of character ; and there were cir- 
 cumstances — well, I will only say that she faces the change in her 
 life very bravely." 
 
 " I do wish I knew her. But I daren't ask that. It's too much 
 to expect that she could bear to see me and listen to what I have 
 to say." 
 
 " The less she's reminded of the past the better, I think." 
 
 " But would it not be possible to do something } I am told 
 that the sum was about fifteen hundred pounds. The whole of 
 that I couldn't restore ; but half of it — I could afford so much. 
 Could I offer to do so — not directly, in my own name, but through 
 you ? " 
 
 Harvey reflected, his head and body bent forward, his hands 
 folded together. In the flat beneath, some one was jingling oper- 
 etta on a piano not quite in tune ; the pertinacious vivacity of the 
 airs interfered with Harvey's desire to view things seriously. He 
 had begun to wonder how large a capital Mrs. Frothingham had 
 at her command. Was it not probable that she could as easily 
 bestow fifteen hundred pounds as the half of that sura ? But the 
 question was unworthy. If in truth she had set hereelf to undo as 
 much as possible of the wrong perpetrated by her husband, Mrs. 
 Frothingham might well limit her benefactions, be her fortune 
 what it might. 
 
 " I will do whatever you desire," he said, with deliberation. " I 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 89 
 
 cannot answer for Mrs. Abbott, but, if you wish it, she shall know 
 what you have in mind." 
 
 " I do wish it," replied the lady earnestly. " I beg you to put 
 this before her, and with all the persuasion you can use. I should 
 be very, very glad if she would allow me to free my conscience 
 from a little of this burden. Only that I dare not spealc of it, I 
 would try to convince you that I am doing what my dear husband 
 himself would have wished. You can't believe it ; no one will 
 ever believe it ; even Alma, I am afraid — and that is so cruel, so 
 dreadful ; but he did not mean to wrong people in this way. It 
 wasn't in his nature. Who knew him better than I, or so well ? 
 I know — if he could come back to us " 
 
 Her voice broke. The piano below jingled more vivaciously 
 than ever, and a sound of shrill laughter pierced through the notes. 
 Afraid to sit silent, lest he should seem unsympathetic and scepti- 
 cal, Rolfe murmured a few harmless phrases, tending to nervous 
 incoherence. 
 
 " I am thinking so much about Alma," pursued the widow, re- 
 covering self-command. " I am so uncertain about my duty to 
 her. Of her own, she has nothing ; but I know, of course, that 
 her father wished her to share in what he gave me. It is strange, 
 Mr. Rolfe, that I should be talking to you as if you were a relative 
 — as if I had a right to trouble you with these things. But if you 
 knew how few people I dare speak to. Wasn't it so much better 
 for her to lead a very quiet life ? And so I gave her only a little 
 money, only enough to live upon in the simplest way. I hoped she 
 would get tired of being among strangers, and come back. And 
 now I fear she thinks I have behaved meanly and selfishly. And 
 we were always so kindly disposed to each other, such thorough 
 friends ; never a word that mightn't have passed between a mother 
 and her own child." 
 
 " I gathered from her letter," interposed Harvey, " that she was 
 well contented and working hard at her music." 
 
 " Do you think so ? I began to doubt— she wrote in low spirits. 
 Of course, one can't say whether she would succeed as a violinist. 
 Oh, I don't like to think of it ! I must tell you that I haven't said 
 a word to her yet of what I am doing ; I mean, about the money. 
 I know I ought to consider her as much as other people. Poor 
 girl, who has suffered more, and in so many ways ? But I think 
 
90 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 of what I keep for myself as hers. I was not brought up in lux- 
 ury, Mr. Rolfe. It wouldn't seem to me hard to live on a very 
 little. But in this, too, I must consider Alma. I daren't lose all 
 my acquaintances. I must keep a home for Alma, and a home 
 she wouldn't feel ashamed of. Here, you see, she could have her 
 friends. I have thought • of going to Leipzig ; but I had so much 
 rather she came to London— if only for us just to talk and under- 
 stand each other." 
 
 Harvey preserved the gravest demeanour." Of Alma he would 
 not permit himself to speak, save in answer to a direct question ; 
 and that was not long in coming. 
 
 ■' I am sure you think I should be quite open with her ? " 
 
 " That would seem to me the best." 
 
 " Yes ; she shall know all my thoughts. But with regard to 
 Mrs. Abbott, I know so well what she would say. I beg you to 
 do me that kindness, Mr. Rolfe.'' 
 
 " I will write to Mrs. Abbott at once." 
 
 The interview was at an end ; neither had anything more to say. 
 They parted with looks of much mutual kindliness, Harvey having 
 promised to make another call when Mrs. Abbott's reply had 
 reached him. 
 
 After exchanging letters with Mrs. Abbott, Harvey went over 
 to see her ; for the sake of both persons concerned, he resolved to 
 leave no possibility of misunderstanding. A few days passed in 
 discussions and reflections, then, at the customary hour for paying 
 calls, he again ascended the many stairs to Mrs. Frothingham's 
 flat. It had rained all day, and in this weather there seemed a 
 certainty that the lady would be at home. But, as he approached 
 the door, Harvey heard a sound from within which discomposed 
 him. Who, save one person, was likely to be playing on the 
 violin in these rooms ? He paused, cast about him a glance of in- 
 decision, and finally pressed the electric bell. 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham was not at home. She might return very 
 shortly. 
 
 " Is — Miss Frothingham at home ? " 
 
 The servant did not straightway admit him, but took his name. 
 On his entering the drawing-room, three figures appeared before 
 him. He saw Alma ; he recognised Miss Leach ; the third lady 
 was named to him as Miss Leach's sister. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 91 
 
 " You knew I was in London ? " Alma remarked rather than 
 inquired. 
 
 " I had no idea of it — until I heard your violin." 
 
 " My violin, but not my playing. It was Miss Leach." 
 
 From the first word— her " Ah, how d'you do ? " as he entered 
 —Alma's tone and manner appeared to him forced, odd, unlike 
 anything he remembered of her. In correcting him, she gave a 
 hard, short laugh, glancing at Dora Leach in a way verging upon 
 the ill-bred. Her look had nothing amiable, though she continu- 
 ously smiled, and when she invited the visitor to be seated, it was 
 with off-hand familiarity very unflattering to his ear. 
 
 " You came to see mamma, of course. I dare say she won't be 
 long. She had to go through the rain on business with some one 
 or other- perhaps you know. Have you been in London all the 
 summer ? Oh no, I remember you told me you had been some- 
 where in France ; on the Loire, wasn't it ? " 
 
 Rolfe dropped a careless affirmative. His temper prompted 
 him to ask whether Miss Frothingham knew the difference be- 
 tween the Loire and the Garonne ; but on the whole he was more 
 puzzled than offended. What had come over this young woman ? 
 Outwardly she was not much altered — a little thinner in the face, 
 perhaps ; her eyes seeming a trifle darker and deeper set ; but 
 in the point of demeanour she had appreciably suffered. Her 
 bearing and mode of speech were of that kind which, in a man, 
 would be called devil-may-care. Was it a result of student-life ? 
 If her stinted allowance had already produced effects such as this, 
 Mrs. Frothingham was justified in uneasiness. 
 
 He turned to Miss Leach, and with her talked exclusively for 
 some minutes. As soon as civility permitted, he would rise and 
 make his escape. Alma, the while, chatted with the younger 
 sister, whom she addressed as " Gerda." Then the door opened, 
 and Mrs. Frothingham came in, wearing her out-of-doors 
 costume; she fixed her eyes on Rolfe with a peculiar inten- 
 sity, and gave him cordial welcome, though in few and nervous 
 words. 
 
 " I am no longer alone, you see." She threw a swift sideglance 
 at Alma. " It is a great pleasure." 
 
 " Does it rain still, mamma ? " asked Alma in a high voice. 
 
 " Not just now, my dear ; but it's very disagreeable." 
 
92 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 "Then I'll walk with you to the station." She addressed the 
 sisters. " Dora and Gerda can't stay ; they have an appointment 
 at five o'clock. They'll come again in a day or two.'' 
 
 After the leave-takings, and when Alma, with a remark that she 
 would not be long, had closed the door behind her, Mrs. Frothing- 
 hara seated herself and began to draw off her gloves. The bonnet 
 and cloak she was wearing, though handsome and in the mode, 
 made her look older than at Rolfe's last visit. She was now a 
 middle-aged woman, with emphasis on the qualifying term ; in 
 home dress she still asserted her sex, grace of figure and freshness 
 of complexion prevailing over years and sorrows. At this mo- 
 ment, moreover, weariness, and perhaps worry, appeared in her 
 countenance. 
 
 "Thank you so much for coming," she said quietly. "You 
 must have been surprised when you saw " 
 
 " I was, indeed." 
 
 " And my surprise was still greater, when, without any warn- 
 ing. Alma walked into the room two days ago. But I was so 
 glad, so very glad." 
 
 She breathed a little sigh, looking round. 
 
 " Hasn't Alma given her friends any tea ? I must ring. — 
 Thank you. — Oh, the wretched, wretched day ! I seem to notice 
 the weather so much more than I used to. Does it affect you at 
 all ? " 
 
 Not till the tea-tray was brought in, and she had sipped from 
 her cup, did Mrs. Frothingham lay aside these commonplaces. 
 With abrupt gravity, and in a subdued voice, she at length in- 
 quired the result of Rolfe's delicate mission. 
 
 " I think," he replied, " that I made known your wish as clearly 
 and urgently as possible. I have seen Mrs. Abbott, and written 
 to her twice. It will be best, perhaps, if I ask you to read her 
 final letter. I have her permission to show it to you." 
 
 He drew the letter from its envelope, and with a nervous hand 
 Mrs. Frothingham took it for perusal. Whilst she was thus 
 occupied, Rolfe averted his eyes ; when he knew that she had 
 read to the end, he looked at her. She had again sighed, and 
 Harvey could not help imagining it an involuntary signal of 
 relief. 
 
 " I am very glad to have read this, Mr. Rolfe. If you had 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 93 
 
 merely told me that Mrs. Abbott refused, I should have felt 
 nothing but pain. As it is, I understand that she could only 
 refuse, and I am most grateful for all she says about me. I regret 
 more than ever that I don't knov\r her." 
 
 As she handed the letter back, it shook like a blown leaf. She 
 was pale, and spoke with effort. But in a few moments, when 
 conversation was resumed, her tone took a lightness and freedom 
 which confirmed Rolfe's impression that she had escaped from a 
 great embarrassment ; and this surmise he inevitably connected 
 with Alma's display of strange ill-humour. 
 
 Not another word passed on the subject. With frequent glances 
 towards the door, Mrs. Frothinghara again talked commonplace. 
 Harvey, eager to get away, soon rose. 
 
 " Oh, you are not going? Alma will be back in a moment." 
 
 And as her step-mother spoke, the young lady reappeared. 
 
 " Why didn't you give your friends tea, dear .' " 
 
 " I forgot all about it. That comes of living alone. Dora has 
 composed a gavotte, mamma. She was playing it when Mr. 
 Rolfe came. It's capital ! Is Mr. Rolfe going ? " 
 
 Harvey murmured his peremptory resolve. Mrs. Frothingham, 
 rising, said that she was almost always at home in the afternoon ; 
 that it would always give her so much pleasure 
 
 " You remain in England ? " asked Harvey, barely touching the 
 hand which Alma cavalierly offered. 
 
 " I really don't know. Perhaps I ought to, just to look after 
 mamma." 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham uttered a little exclamation, and tried to 
 laugh. On the instant, Harvey withdrew. 
 
 By the evening's post on the following day he wassurprised to 
 receive a letter addressed in Alma's unmistakable hand. The 
 contents did not allay his wonder. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Rolfe, — I am sure you will not mind if I use the 
 privilege of a fairly long acquaintance and speak plainly about 
 something that I regard as important. I wish to say that I am 
 quite old enough, and feel quite competent, to direct the course of 
 my own life. It is very kind of you, indeed, to take an interest in 
 what I do and what I hope to do, and I am sure mamma will be 
 fittingly grateful for any advice you may have offered with regard 
 
94 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 to me. But I feel obliged to say quite distinctly that I must man- 
 age my own affairs. Pray excuse this freedom, and believe me, 
 yours truly, 
 
 "Alma Florence Frothingham." 
 
 He gasped, and with wide eyes read the missive again and 
 again. As soon as his nerves were quieted, he sat down and re- 
 plied thus : — 
 
 " Dear Miss Frothingham, — Your frankness can only be 
 deemed a compliment. It is perhaps a triviality on my part, but I 
 feel prompted to say that I have at no time discussed your posi- 
 tion or prospects with Mrs. Frothingham, and that I have neither 
 offered advice on the subject nor have been requested to do so. 
 If this statement should appear to you at all germane to the mat- 
 ter, I beg you will take it into consideration. — And I am, yours 
 truly, 
 
 " Harvey Radcliffe Rolfe." 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 This reply despatched, Harvey congratulated himself on being 
 quits with Miss Frothingham. Her letter, however amusing, was 
 deliberate impertinence ; to have answered it in a serious tone 
 would have been to encourage ill-mannered conceit which merited 
 nothing but a snub. 
 
 But what had excited her anger ? Had Mrs. Frothingham 
 been guilty of some indiscretion, or was it merely the result of hot- 
 headed surmises and suspicions on the girl's part .'' Plainly, Alma 
 had returned to England in no amiable mood ; in all probability 
 she resented her step-mother's behaviour, now that it had been 
 explained to her ; there had arisen " unpleasantness " on the old, 
 the eternal subject — money. Ignoble enough ; but was it a new 
 thing for him to discern ignoble possibilities in Alma's nature .'' 
 
 Nevertheless, his thoughts were constantly occupied with the 
 girl. Her image haunted him ; all his manhood was subdued and 
 mocked by her scornful witchery. From the infinitudes of reverie, 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 9S 
 
 her eyes drew near and gazed upon him — eyes gleaming with mis- 
 chief, keen with curiosity ; a look now supercilious, now softly 
 submissive ; all the varieties of expression caught in susceptible 
 moments, and stored by a too faithful memory. Her hair, her 
 lips, her neck, grew present to him, and lured his fancy with a 
 wanton seduction. In self-defence— pathetic stratagem of intel- 
 lectual man at issue with the flesh— he fell back upon the idealism 
 which ever strives to endow a fair woman with a beautiful soul ; he 
 endeavoured to forget her body in contemplation of the spiritual 
 excellencies that might lurk behind it. To depreciate her was 
 simpler, and had generally been his wont ; but subjugation had 
 reached another stage in him. He summoned all possible pleadings 
 on the girl's behalf : her talents, her youth, her grievous trials. 
 Devotion to classical music cannot but argue a certain loftiness of 
 mind ; it might, in truth, be somehow akin to " religion." Re- 
 membering his own follies and vices at the age of four and twenty, 
 were it not reason, no less than charity, to see in Alma the hope 
 of future good .' Nay, if it came to that, did she not embody in- 
 finitely more virtue, in every sense of the word, than he at the 
 same age ? One must be just to women, and, however paltry the 
 causes, do honour to the cleanliness of their life. Nothing had 
 suggested to him that Alma was unworthy of everyday respect. 
 Even when ill-mannered, she did not lose her sexual dignity. 
 And after all she had undergone, there would have been excuse 
 enough for decline of character, to say nothing of a lapse from the 
 articles of good breeding. This letter of hers, what did it signify 
 but the revolt of a spirit of independence, irritated by all manner 
 of sufferings, great and small .' Ought he not to have replied in 
 other terms ? Was it worthy of him — man of tne world, with 
 passions, combats, experience multiform, assimilated in his long, 
 slow growth — to set his sarcasm against a girl's unhappiness ? 
 
 He was vexed with himself. He had not behaved as a gentle- 
 man. And how many a time, in how many situations, had he in- 
 curred this form of self-reproach ! 
 
 When a week went by without anything more from Alma, Harvey 
 ceased to trouble. As the fates directed, so be it. He began to 
 pack the books which he would take with him into Wales. 
 
 One day he found himself at Kensington High Street, waiting 
 for a City train. In idleness, he watched the people who alighted 
 
96 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 from carriages on the opposite side of the platform, and among 
 them he saw Alma. On her way towards the stairs she was obliged 
 to pass him ; he kept his position, and only looked into her face 
 when she came quite near. She bent her head with a half-smile, 
 stopped, and spoke in a low voice, without sign of embarrassment. 
 
 " I was quite wrong. I found it out soon after I had written, 
 and I have wanted to beg your pardon. " 
 
 " It is my part to do that," Harvey replied. " I ought not to 
 have answered as I did " 
 
 " Perhaps not — all things considered. I'm rather in a hurry. 
 Good morning ! " 
 
 As a second thought, she offered her hand. Harvey watched 
 her trip up the stairs. 
 
 Next morning he had a letter from her. " Dear Mr. Rolfe," 
 she wrote, " did you let mamma know of my hasty and foolish 
 behaviour ? If not — and I very much hope you didn't — please not 
 to reply to this, but let us see you on Wednesday afternoon, just 
 in the ordinary way. If mamma has been told, still don't trouble 
 to write, and in that case I dare Say you will not care to come. If 
 you are engaged this Wednesday, perhaps you could come next." 
 And she signed herself his sincerely. 
 
 He did not reply, and Wednesday saw him climbing once more 
 to the little flat ; ashamed of being here, yet unable to see how he 
 could have avoided it, except by leaving London. For that escape 
 he had no longer much mind. Quite consciously, and with un- 
 easiness which was now taking a new form, he had yielded to 
 Alma's fascination. However contemptible and unaccountable, 
 this was the state of things with him, and, as he waited for the 
 door to be opened, it made him feel more awkward, more foolish, 
 than for many a long year. 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham and her step-daughter were sitting alone, the 
 elder lady occupied with fancy-work, at her feet a basket of many 
 coloured silks, and the younger holding a book ; nothing could 
 have been quieter or more home-like. No sooner had he entered 
 than he overcame all restraint, all misgiving ; there was nothing 
 here to-day but peace and good-feeling, gentle voices and quiet 
 amiability. Whatever shadow had arisen between the two ladies 
 must have passed utterly av^'ay ; they spoke to each other with 
 natural kindness, and each had a tranquil countenance. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 97 
 
 Alma began at once to talk of their common friends, the Car- 
 nabys, asking whether Rolfe knew that they were in Australia. 
 
 " I knew tjiey had decided to go," he answered. " But I 
 haven't heard for at least two months." 
 
 " Oh, then I can give you all the news ; I had a letter yesterday. 
 When Mrs. Carnaby wrote, they had spent a fortnight at Mel- 
 bourne, and were going on to Brisbane. Mr. Carnaby is going to 
 do something in Queensland — something about mines. I'll read 
 you that part." 
 
 The letter lay in the book she was holding. Sibyl wrote inde- 
 finitely, but Harvey was able to gather that the mining engineer, 
 Dando, had persuaded Carnaby to take an active interest in his 
 projects. Discussion on speculative enterprises did not recom- 
 mend itself to the present company, and Rolfe could only express 
 a hope that his friend had at last found a pursuit in which he 
 could interest himself. 
 
 " But fancy Sibyl at such places ! " exclaimed Alma, with 
 amusement. " How curious I shall be to see her when she comes 
 back ! Before she left England, I'm sure she hadn't the least idea 
 in what part of Australia Brisbane was, or Melbourne either. I 
 didn't know myself; had to look at a map. You'll think that a 
 shameful confession, Mr. Rolfe." 
 
 " My own ideas of Australian geography are vague enough." 
 
 " Oh, but haven't you been there ? " 
 
 " Not to any of the new countries ; I don't care about them. A 
 defect, I admit. The future of England is beyond seas. I would 
 have children taught all about the Colonies before bothering them 
 with histories of Greece and Rome. I wish I had gone out there 
 myself as a boy, and grown up a sheep-farmer." 
 
 Alma laughed. 
 
 " That's one of the things you say just to puzzle people. It con- 
 tradicts all sorts of things I've heard you say at other times. — Do 
 ^/ou think, mamma, that Mr. Rolfe missed his vocation when he 
 didn't become a sheep-farmer ? " 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham gently shook her head. No trace of nervous- 
 ness appeared in her to-day ; manipulating the coloured silks, she 
 only now and then put in a quiet word, but followed the talk with 
 interest. 
 
 " But I quite thought you had been to Australia," Alma re- 
 
c,8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 sumed. " You see, it's very theoretical, your admiration of the 
 new countries. And I believe you would rather die at once in 
 England than go to live in any such part of the world." 
 " Weakness of mind, that's all." 
 
 " Still, you admit it. That's something gained. You always 
 smile at other people's confessions, and keep your own mind mys- 
 terious." 
 
 " Mysterious ? I always thought one of my faults was over- 
 frankness." 
 
 " That only shows how little we know ourselves." 
 
 Harvey was reflecting on the incompleteness of his knowledge 
 of Alma. Intentionally or not, she appeared to him at this mo- 
 ment in a perfectly new light ; he could not have pictured her so 
 simple of manner, so direct, so placid. Trouble seemed to have 
 given her a holiday, and at the same time to have released her 
 from self-consciousness. 
 
 " But you have never told us," she went on, " about your wan- 
 derings in France this summer. English people don't go much to 
 that part, do they ? " 
 
 " No. I happened to read a book about it. It's the old fighting- 
 ground of French and English — interesting to any one pedantic 
 enough to care for such things." 
 
 "But not to people born to be sheep-farmers. And you had a 
 serious illness. — Did Mr. Rolfe tell you, mamma dear, that he 
 nearly died at some miserable roadside inn ? " 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham looked startled, and declared she knew noth- 
 ing of it. Harvey, obliged to narrate, did so in the fewest possi- 
 ble words, and dismissed the matter. 
 
 " I suppose you have had many such experiences," said Alma. 
 •• And when do you start on your next travels ? " 
 
 " I have nothing in view. I half thought of going for the win- 
 ter to a place in North Wales — Carnarvonshire, on the outer 
 sea." 
 
 The ladies begged for more information, and he related how, on 
 a ramble with a friend last spring (it was Basil Morton), he had 
 come upon this still little town between the mountains and the 
 shore, amid a country shining with yellow gorse, hills clothed with 
 larch, heathery moorland, ferny lanes, and wild heights where the 
 wind roars on crag or cairn. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 99 
 
 " No railway within seven miles. Just the place for a pedant 
 to escape to, and live there through the winter with his musty 
 books." 
 
 " But it must be equally delightful for people who are not 
 pedants ! " exclaimed Alma. 
 
 " In spring or summer, no doubt, though even then the civilised 
 person would probably find it dull." 
 
 " That's your favourite affectation again. I'm sure it's nothing 
 but affectation when you speak scornfully of civilised people." 
 
 " Scornfully ? I hope I never do." 
 
 "Really, mamma," said Alma, with a laugh, "Mr. Rolfe is in 
 his very mildest humour to-day. We mustn't expect any reproofs 
 for our good. He will tell us presently that we are patterns of all 
 the virtues." 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham spoke in a graver strain. 
 
 " But I'm sure it is possible to be too civilised — to want too 
 many comforts, and become a slave to them. Since I have been 
 living here, Mr. Rolfe, you can't think how I have got to enjoy 
 the simplicity of this kind of life. Everything is so easy ; things 
 go so smoothly. Just one servant, who can't make mistakes, be- 
 cause there's next to nothing to do. No wonder people are tak- 
 ing to flats." 
 
 " And is that what you mean by over-civilisation ? " Alma 
 
 asked of Rolfe. 
 
 " I didn't say anything about it. But I should think many peo- 
 ple in large and troublesome houses would agree with Mrs. 
 Frothingham. It's easy to imagine a time when such burdens 
 won't be tolerated. Our misfortune is, of course, that we are not 
 civilised enough." 
 
 " Not enough to give up fashionable nonsense. I agree with 
 that. We're wretched slaves, most of us." 
 
 It was the first sentence Alma had spoken in a tone that Rolfe 
 recognised. For a moment her face lost its placid smile, and 
 Harvey hoped that she would say more to the same purpose ; but 
 she was silent. 
 
 " I'm sure," remarked Mrs. Frothingham, with feeling, " that 
 most happiness is found in simple homes." 
 
 " Can we be simple by wishing it ? " asked Alma. " Don't you 
 think we have to be born to simplicity ? " 
 
loo THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " I'm not sure that I know what you mean by the word," said 
 Harvey. 
 
 " I'm not sure that I know myself. Mamma meant poverty, I 
 think. But there may be a simple life without poverty, I should 
 say. I'm thinking of disregard for other people's foolish opinions ; 
 living just as you feel most at ease — not torturing yourself be- 
 cause it's the custom." 
 
 " That's just what requires courage," Rolfe remarked. 
 
 " Yes ; I suppose it does. One knows people who live in 
 misery just because they daren't be comfortable; keeping up 
 houses and things they can't afford, when, if they only considered 
 themselves, their income would be quite enough for everything 
 they really want. If you come to think of it, that's too foolish for 
 belief." 
 
 Harvey felt that the topic was growing dangerous. He said 
 nothing, but wished to have more of Alma's views in this direc- 
 tion. They seemed to strike her freshly ; perhaps she had never 
 thought of the matter in this way before. 
 
 " That's what I meant," she continued, " when I said you must 
 be born to simplicity. I should think no one ever gave up fashion- 
 able extravagance just because they saw it to be foolish. Peo- 
 ple haven't the strength of mind. I dare say," she added, with a 
 bright look, " any one who was strong enough to do that kind of 
 thing would be admired and envied." 
 
 " By whom ? " Rolfe asked. 
 
 " Oh, by their acquaintances who were still slaves." 
 
 " I don't know. Admiration and envy are not commonly ex- 
 cited by merely reasonable behaviour." 
 
 " But this would be something more than merely reasonable. 
 It would be the beginning of a revolution." 
 
 "My dear," remarked Mrs. Frothingham, smiling sadly, "peo- 
 ple would never believe that it didn't mean loss of money." 
 
 " They might be made to believe it. It would depend entirely 
 on the persons, of course." 
 
 Alma seemed to weary of the speculation, and to throw it aside. 
 Harvey noticed a shadow on her face again, which this time did 
 not pass quickly. 
 
 He was so comfortable in his chair, the ladies seemed so en- 
 tirely at leisure, such a noiseless calm brooded about them, un- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL loi 
 
 broken by any new arrival, that two hours went by insensibly, and 
 with lingering reluctance the visitor found it time to take his leave. 
 On reviewing the afternoon, Harvey concluded that it was proba- 
 bly as void of meaning as of event. Alma, on friendly terms once 
 more with her step-mother, felt for the moment amiably disposed 
 towards every one, himself included ; this idle good-humour and 
 insignificant talk was meant, no doubt, for an apology, all he had 
 to expecU It implied, of course, thorough indifference towards him 
 as an individual. As a member of their shrunken circle, he was 
 worth retaining. Having convinced herself of his innocence of 
 undue pretensions. Alma would, as the children say, be friends 
 again, and everything should go smoothly. 
 
 He lived through a week of the wretchedest indecision, and at 
 the end of it, when Wednesday afternoon came round, was again 
 climbing the many stairs to the Frothinghams' flat ; even more 
 nervous than last time, much more ashamed of himself, and utterly 
 doubtful as to his reception. The maid admitted him without re- 
 mark, and showed him into an empty room. When he had waited 
 for five minutes, staring at objects he did not see. Alma entered. 
 
 " Mamma went out to lunch," she said, languidly shaking 
 hands with him, " and hasn't come back yet." 
 
 No greeting could have conveyed less encouragement. She 
 seated herself with a lifeless movement, looked at him, and smiled 
 as if discharging a duty. 
 
 " I thought " — he blundered into speech — " that Wednesday was 
 probably your regular afternoon." 
 
 " There is nothing regular yet. We haven't arranged our life. 
 We are glad to see our friends whenever they come. — Pray sit 
 down." 
 
 He did so, resolving to stay for a few minutes only. In the 
 silence that followed, their eyes met, and, as though it were too 
 much trouble to avert her look, Alma continued to regard him. 
 She smiled again, and with more meaning. 
 
 " So you have quite forgiven me ? " fell from her lips, just when 
 Harvey was about to speak. 
 
 " As I told you at the station, I feel that there is more fault on 
 my side. You wrote under such a strange misconception, and I 
 ought to have patiently explained myself." 
 
 " Oh no ! You were quite right in treating me sharply. I don't 
 
I02 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 quite remember what I said, but I know it must have been out- 
 rageous. After that, I did what I ought to have done before, just 
 had a talk with a mamma.'' 
 
 " Then you took it for granted, without any evidence, that I 
 came here as a meddler or busybody ? " 
 
 His voice was perfectly good-humoured, and Alma answered in 
 the same tone. 
 
 " I thought there was evidence. Mamma had been talking 
 about her affairs, and mentioned that she had consulted you about 
 something — Oh, about Mrs. Abbott." 
 
 " Very logical, I must say," remarked Rolfe, laughing. 
 
 " I don't think logic is my strong point." 
 
 She sat far back in the easy chair, her head supported, her 
 hands resting upon the chair-arms. The languor which she 
 hardly made an effort to overcome began to invade her companion, 
 like an influence from the air ; he gazed at her, perceiving a new 
 beauty in the half-upturned face, a new seductiveness in the slim, 
 abandoned body. A dress of grey silk, trimmed with black, 
 refined the ivory whiteness of her flesh ; its faint rustling when she 
 moved affected Harvey with a delicious thrill. 
 
 "There's no reason, now,'' she continued, "why we shouldn't 
 talk about it — I mean, the things you discussed with mamma. 
 You imagine, I dare say, that I selfishly objected to what she was 
 doing. Nothing of the kind. I didn't quite see why she had kept 
 it from me, that was all. It was as if she felt afraid of my greedi- 
 ness. But I'm not greedy; I don't think I'm more selfish than 
 ordinary people. And I think mamma is doing exactly what she 
 ought ; I'm very glad she felt about things in that way." 
 
 Harvey nodded, and spoke in a subdued voice. 
 
 " I was only consulted about one person, whom I happened to 
 know." 
 
 "Yes— Mrs. Abbott." 
 
 Her eyes were again fi.xed upon him, and he read their curiosity. 
 Just as he was about to speak, the servant appeared with tea. 
 Alma slowly raised herself, and, whilst she plied the office of hos- 
 tess, Harvey got rid of [the foolish hat and stick that encumbered 
 him. He had now no intention of hurrying away. 
 
 As if by natural necessity, they talked of nothing in particular 
 whilst tea was sipped. Harvey still held his cup, when at the 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 103 
 
 outer door sounded a rat-tat-tat, causing him silently to execrate 
 the intruder, whoever it might be. Unheeding, and as if she had 
 not heard. Alma chatted of trifles. Harvey's ear detected move- 
 ments without, but no one entered ; in a minute or two, he again 
 breathed freely. 
 
 " Mrs. Abbott " 
 
 Alma just dropped the name, as if beginning a remark, but 
 lapsed into silence. 
 
 " Shall I tell you all about her .' " said Rolfe. " Her husband's 
 death left her in great difficulties ; she had hardly anything. A 
 friend of hers, a Mrs, Langland, who lives at Gunnersbury, was 
 very kind and helpful. They talked things over, and Mrs. Abbott 
 decided to take a house at Gunnersbury, and teach children ; — she 
 was a teacher before her marriage." 
 
 " No children of her own ? " 
 
 " No. One died. But unfortunately she has the care of two, 
 whose mother — a cousin of hers — is dead, and whose father has 
 run away." 
 
 " Run away ? " 
 
 " Literally. Left the children behind in a lodging-house garret 
 to starve, or go to the workhouse, or anything else. A spirited 
 man ; independent, you see ; no foolish prejudices." 
 
 " And Mrs. Abbott has to support them .' " 
 
 " No one else could take them. They live with her." 
 
 " You didn't mention that to mamma." 
 
 " No. I thought it needless." 
 
 The silence that followed was embarrassing to Harvey. He 
 broke it by abruptly changing the subject. 
 
 " Have you practised long to-day .' " 
 
 " No," was the absent reply. 
 
 " I thought you looked rather tired, as if you had been working 
 too hard." 
 
 " Oh, I don't work too hard," said Alma impatiently. 
 
 " Forgive me. I remember that it is a forbidden subject." 
 
 " Not at all. You may ask me anything you like about myself. 
 I'm not working particularly hard just now; thinking a good deal, 
 though. Suppose you let me have your thoughts on the same sub- 
 ject. No harm. But I dare say I know them, without your tell- 
 ing me." 
 
104 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " I hardly think you do," said Rolfe, regarding her steadily. 
 "At all events"— his voice faltered a little— " I'm afraid you 
 don't.'' 
 
 " Afraid ? Oh "—she laughed—" don't be afraid. I have 
 plenty of courage, and quite enough obstinacy. It rather does me 
 good when people show they have no faith in me." 
 
 " You didn't understand," murmured Harvey. 
 
 " Then make me understand," she exclaimed nervously, moving 
 in the chair as if about to stand up, but remaining seated and bent 
 forward, her eyes fixed upon him in a sort of good-humoured chal- 
 lenge. " I believe I know what you mean, all the time. You 
 didn't discuss me with mamma, as I suspected, but you think 
 about me just as she does. — No, let me go on, then you shall con- 
 fess I was right. You have no faith in my powers, to begin with. 
 It seems to you very unlikely that an everyday sort of girl, whom 
 you have met in society and know all about, should develop into a 
 great artist. No faith — that's the first thing. Then you are so 
 kind as to have fears for me — yes, it was your own word. You 
 think that you know the world, whilst I am ignorant of it, and 
 that it's a sort of duty to offer warnings." 
 
 Harvey's all but angry expression, as he listened and fidgeted, 
 suddenly stopped her. 
 
 " Well ! Can you deny that these things are in your mind ? " 
 
 " They are not in my mind at this moment, that's quite certain,'' 
 said Harvey bluntly. 
 
 " Then, what is ? " 
 
 " Something it isn't easy to say, when you insist on quarrelling 
 with me. Why do you use this tone ? Do I strike you as a peda- 
 gogue, a preacher — something of that sort ? " 
 
 His energy in part subdued her. She smiled uneasily. 
 
 " No. I don't see you in that light." 
 
 " So much the better. I wanted to appear to you simply a 
 man, and one who has — perhaps — the misfortune to see in yoii 
 only a very beautiful and a very desirable woman." 
 
 Alma sat motionless. Her smile had passed, vanishing in a 
 swift gleam of pleasure which left her countenance bright, though 
 grave. In the same moment there sounded again a rat-tat at the 
 outer door. Through his whirling senses, Harvey was aware of 
 the threatened interruption, and all but cursed aloud. That Alma 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 105 
 
 had the same expectation appeared in her moving so as to assume 
 a more ordinary attitude ; but she uttered the word that had risen 
 to her lips. 
 
 " The misfortune, you call it ? " 
 
 Harvey followed her example in disposing his limbs' more con- 
 ventionally ; also in the tuning of his voice to something between 
 jest and earnest. 
 
 "I &z\A per/laps the misfortune." 
 
 " It makes a difference, certainly." She smiled, her eyes turned 
 to the door. "Perhaps is a great word: one of the most useful 
 in the language,— Don't you think so, mamma?" 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham had just entered. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The inconceivable' had come to pass. By a word and a look 
 Harvey had made real what he was always telling himself could 
 never be more than a dream, and a dream of unutterable, folly. 
 Mrs. Frothingham 's unconscious intervention availed him nothing ; 
 he had spoken, and must speak again. For a man of sensitive 
 honour there could be no trifling in such a matter as this with a 
 girl in Alma Frothingham 's position ? And did he not rejoice 
 that wavering was no longer possible .' 
 
 This was love ; but of what quality ? He no longer cared, or 
 dared, to analyse it. Too late for all that. He had told Alma 
 that he loved her, and did not repent it ; nay, hoped passionately 
 to hear from her lips the echoed syllable. It was merely the proof 
 of madness. A shake of the head might cure him ; but from that 
 way to sanity all his blood shrank. 
 
 He must consider ; he must be practical. If he meant to ask 
 Alma to marry him, and of course he did, an indispensable pre- 
 liminary was to make known the crude facts of his worldly posi- 
 tion. 
 
 Weir, he could say, with entire honesty, that he had over nine 
 hundred pounds a year. This was omitting a disbursement of an 
 annual fifty pounds, of which he need not speak — the sum he had 
 insisted on paying Mrs. Abbott that she might be able to main- 
 
io6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 tain Wager's children. With all the difficulty in the world had he 
 gained his point. Mrs. Abbott did not wish the children to go into 
 other hands ; she made it a matter of conscience to keep them 
 by her, and to educate them, yet this seemed barely possible with 
 the combat for a livelihood before her. Mrs. Abbott yielded, and 
 their clasp of hands cemented a wholesome friendship — frank, un- 
 suspicious — rarest of relations between man and woman. But all 
 this there was certainly no need of disclosing. 
 
 At midnight he was penning a letter. It must not be long ; it 
 must not strike the lyrical note ; yet assuredly it must not read 
 like a commercial overture. He had great difficulty in writing 
 anything that seemed tolerable. Yet done it must be, and done it 
 was ; and before going to bed he had dropped his letter into the 
 post. He durst not leave it for reperusal in the morning light. 
 
 Then came torture of expectancy. The whole man aching, 
 sore, with impatience ; reason utterly fled, intellect bemused and 
 baffled ; a healthy, competent citizen of nigh middle age set all at 
 once in the corner, crowned with a fool's cap, twiddling his thumbs 
 in nervous fury. Dolorous spectacle, and laughable withal. 
 
 He waited four and twenty hours, then clutched at Alma's reply. 
 " Dear Mr. Rolfe,— Will you come again next Wednesday ? " 
 That was all. Did it amuse her to keep him in suspense ? The 
 invitation might imply a fulfilment of his hopes, but Alma's capri- 
 ciousness allowed no certainty ; a week's reflection was as likely 
 to have one result as another. For him it meant a week of solitude 
 and vacancy. 
 
 Or would have meant it, but for that sub-vigorous element in 
 his character, that saving strain of practical rationality, which had 
 brought him thus far in life without sheer overthrow. An hour 
 after receiving Alma's enigmatical note, he was oppressed by iner- 
 tia ; another hour roused him to self-preservation, and supplied 
 him with a project. That night he took the steamer from Harwich 
 to Antwerp, and for the next four days wandered through the 
 Netherlands, reviving his memories of a journey, under very differ- 
 ent circumstances, fifteen years ago. The weather was bright and 
 warm ; on the whole he enjoyed himself ; he reached London again 
 early on Wednesday morning, and in the afternoon, with a touch 
 of weather on his cheek, presented himself at Alma's door. 
 
 She awaited him in the drawing-room, alone. This time, he felt 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 107 
 
 sure, no interruption was to be feared ; he entered with confident 
 step and a cheery salutation. A glance showed him that his com- 
 mon sense had served him well ; it was Alma who looked pale and 
 thought-worn, who betrayed timidity, and could not at once com- 
 mand herself. 
 
 " What have you been doing ? " she asked, remarking his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " Rambling about a little," he replied good-humouredly. 
 
 " Where .' You look as if you had been a voyage.'' 
 
 "So I have, a short one." 
 
 And he told her how his week had passed. 
 
 " So that's how you would like to spend your life — always travel- 
 ling ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! I did it to kill time. You must remember that a week 
 is something like a year to a man who is waiting impatiently." 
 
 She dropped her eyes. 
 
 "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. But I never thought you 
 very impatient. You always seemed to take things philosophically." 
 
 " I generally try to." 
 
 There was a pause. Alma, leaning forward in her chair, kept 
 her eyes down, and did not raise them when she again spoke. 
 
 " You have surprised and perplexed and worried me. I thought 
 
 in a week's time I should know what to say, but Doesn't it 
 
 strike you, Mr. Rolfe, that we're in a strange position towards 
 each other. You know very little of me — very little indeed, I'm 
 sure. And of you, when I come to think of it, all I really know is 
 that you hardly care at all for what has always been my one great 
 interest. " 
 
 " That is putting it in a matter-of-fact way — or you think so. I 
 see things rather differently. In one sense, I care very much in- 
 deed for everything that really makes a part of your life. And 
 simply because I care very much about you yourself. I don't 
 know you ; who knows any other human being ? But I have 
 formed an idea of you, and an idea that has great power over my 
 thoughts, wishes, purposes — everything. It has made me say 
 what I thought I should never say to any woman — and makes me 
 feel glad that I have said it, and full of hope." 
 
 Alma drew in her breath and smiled faintly. Still she did not 
 look at him. 
 
io8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " And of course I have formed an idea of you. 
 
 " Will you sketch the outline and let me correct it ? " 
 
 " You think I am pretty sure to be wrong ? " she asked, raising 
 her eyes and regarding him for a moment with anxiety. 
 
 " I should have said ' complete ' it. I hope I have never shown 
 myself to you in an altogether false light." 
 
 " That is the one thing I have felt sure about," said Alma, 
 slowly and thoughtfully. " You have always seemed the same. 
 You don't change with circumstances — as people generally do." 
 
 Harvey had a word on his lips, but checked it, and merely gazed 
 at her till her eyes again encountered his. Then Alma smiled 
 more naturally. 
 
 " There was something you didn't speak of in your letter. What 
 kind of life do you look forward to !* " 
 
 "I'm not sure that I understand. My practical aims — you 
 mean ? " 
 
 "Yes," she faltered, with embarrassment. 
 
 " Why, I'm afraid I have none. I mentioned the facts of my 
 position, and I said that I couldn't hope for its improvement •" 
 
 " No, no, no ! You misunderstand me. I am not thinking 
 about money. I hate the word, and wish I might never hear it 
 again ! " She spoke with impetuosity. " I meant — how and 
 where do you wish to live ? What thoughts had you about the 
 future? " 
 
 " None very definite, I confess. And chiefly because, if what 
 I desired came to pass, I thought of everything as depending upon 
 you. I have no place in the world. I have no relatives nearer 
 than cousins. Of late years I have been growing rather bookish, 
 and rather fond of quietness — but of course that resulted from 
 circumstances. When a man offers marriage, of course he usually 
 says : My Ufe is this and this ; will you enter into it, and share it 
 with me? I don't wish to say anything of the kind. My life may 
 take all sorts of forms ; when I ask you to share it, I ask you to 
 share liberty, not restraint." 
 
 " A gipsy life ? " she asked, half playfully. 
 
 " Is your inclination to that ? " 
 
 Alma shook her head. 
 
 " No, I am tired of homelessness. — And," she added as if on an 
 impulse, " I am tired of London." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 109 
 
 " Then we agree. I, too, am tired of both." 
 
 Her manner altered ; she straightened herself, and spoke with 
 more self-possession. 
 
 " What about my art — my career ? " 
 
 " It is for me to ask that question," replied Harvey, gazing 
 steadfastly at her. 
 
 " You don't mean that it would all necessarily come to an end." 
 
 " Why ? I mean what I say when I speak of sharing liberty. 
 Heaven forbid that I should put an end to any aim or hope of 
 yours — to anything that is part of yourself. I want you to be 
 yourself. Many people nowadays revolt against marriage be- 
 cause it generally means bondage, and they have much to say for 
 themselves. If I had been condemned to a wearisome occupation 
 and a very small income, I'm sure I should never have asked any 
 one to marry me ; I don't think it fair. It may seem to you that 
 I haven't much right to call myself an independent man as it 
 is " 
 
 Alma broke in, impatiently. 
 
 " Don't speak of money ! You have enough— more than 
 enough." 
 
 " So it seems to me. You are afraid this might prevent you 
 from becoming a professional musician ? " 
 
 " I know it would," she answered with quiet decision. 
 
 " I should never dream of putting obstacles in your way. Do 
 understand and believe me. I don't want to shape you to any 
 model of my own ; I want you to be your true self, and live the 
 life you are meant for." 
 
 " All the same, you would rather I did not become a profes- 
 sional musician. Now, be honest with me ! Be honest before 
 everything. You needn't answer, I know it well enough ; and if I 
 marry you, I give up my music.'' 
 
 Rolfe scrutinised her face, observed the tremulous mouth, the 
 nervous eyelid. 
 
 "Then," he said, "it will be better for you not to marry 
 me." 
 
 And silence fell upon the room, a silence in which Harvey could 
 hear a deep-drawn breath and the rustle of silk. He was sur- 
 prised by a voice in quite a new tone, softly melodious. 
 
 " You give me up very easily.'' 
 
no THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Not more easily than you give up your music." 
 
 " There's a difference. Do you remember what we were saying, 
 last Wednesday, about simplicity of living ? " 
 
 " Last Wednesday.? It seems a month ago. Yes, I remember." 
 
 " I have thought a good deal of that. I feel how vulgar the life 
 is that most people lead. They can't help it ; they think it impos- 
 sible to do anything else. But I should like to break away from 
 it altogether— to live as I chose, and not care a bit what other 
 people said." 
 
 Harvey had the same difficulty as before in attaching much sig- 
 nificance to these phrases. They were pleasant to hear, for they 
 chimed with his own thoughts, but he could not respond with 
 great seriousness. 
 
 " The wife of a man with my income won't have much choice, I 
 fancy." 
 
 " How can you say that ? " exclaimed Alma. " You know that 
 most people would take a house in a good part of London, and 
 live up to the last penny — making every one think that their income 
 must be two or three thousand pounds. I know all about that 
 kind of thing, and it sickens me. There's the choice between 
 vulgar display with worry and a simple, refined life with perfect 
 comfort. You fancied I should want a house in London ? " 
 
 " I hardly thought anything about it." 
 
 " But it would ease your mind if I said that I would far rather 
 live in a cottage, as quietly and simply as possible ?" 
 
 " What does ease my mind — or rather, what makes me very 
 happy, is that you don't refuse to think of giving me your com- 
 panionship.'' 
 
 Alma flushed a little. 
 
 " I haven't promised. After all my thinking about it, it came to 
 this — that I couldn't make up my mind till I had talked over 
 everything with you. If I marry, I must know what my life is 
 going to be. And it puzzles me that you could dream of mak- 
 ing any one your wife before you had asked her all sorts of 
 questions." 
 
 In his great contentment, Harvey laughed. 
 
 " Admirable, theoretically ! But how is a man to begin asking 
 questions ? How many would he ask before he got sent about 
 his business .' " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL in 
 
 " That's the very way of putting his chance to the test ! " said 
 Alma brightly. " If he Msent about his business, how much better 
 for him than to marry on a misunderstanding." 
 
 " I agree with you perfectly. I never heard any one talk better 
 sense on the subject." 
 
 Alma looked pleased, as she always did when receiving a com- 
 pliment. 
 
 " Will you believe, then, Mr. Rolfe, that I am quite in earnest in 
 hating show and pretences and extravagance, and wishing to live 
 in just the opposite way ? " 
 
 " I will believe it if you cease to address me by that formal 
 name — a show and a pretence, and just a little extravagant." 
 
 Her cheeks grew warm again. 
 
 " That reminds me," she said ; " I didn't know you had a 
 second name — till I got that letter." 
 
 " I had almost forgotten it myself, till I answered a certain 
 other letter. I didn't know till then that jrou had a second name. 
 Your ' Florence ' called out my ' Radcliffe ' — which sounds fiery, 
 doesn't it ? I always felt that the name over-weighted me. I got 
 it from my mother." 
 
 " And your first — Harvey ? " 
 
 " My first I got from a fine old doctor, about whom I'll tell you 
 some day — Alma." 
 
 " I named your name. I didn't address you by it." 
 
 "But you will.' " 
 
 " Let us talk seriously. — Could you live far away from London, 
 in some place that people know nothing about .' " 
 
 " With you, indeed I could, and be glad enough if I never saw 
 London again." 
 
 An exaltation possessed Alma ; her eyes grew very bright, gaz- 
 ing as if at a mental picture, and her hands trembled as she con- 
 tinued to speak. 
 
 " I don't mean that we are to go and be hermits in a wilderness. 
 Our friends must visit us — our real friends, no one else ; just the 
 people we really care about, and those won't be many. If I give 
 up a public career — as of course I shall — there's no need to give up 
 music. I can go on with it in a better spirit, for pure love of it, 
 without any wish for making money and reputation. You don't 
 think this a mere dream ? " 
 
112 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Harvey thought more than he was disposed to say. He mar- 
 velled at her sudden enthusiasm for an ideal he had not imagined 
 her capable of pursuing. If he only now saw into the girl's true 
 character, revealed by the awakening of her emotions, how nobly 
 was his ardour justified ! All but despising himself for loving her, 
 he had instinctively chosen the one woman whose heart and mind 
 could inspire him to a life above his own. " I should think it a 
 dream," he answered, " if I didn't hear it from your lips." 
 
 " But it is so easy ! We keep all the best things, and throw off 
 only the worthless — the things that waste time and hurt the mind. 
 No crowded rooms, no wearying artificial talk, no worry with a 
 swarm of servants, no dressing and fussing. The whole day to 
 oneself, for work and pleasure. A small house — just large enough 
 for order and quietness, and to keep a room for the friend who 
 comes. How many people would like such a life, but haven't the 
 courage to live it ! " 
 
 " Where shall it be, Alma .' " 
 
 " I have given no promise. I only say this is the life that I 
 should like. Perhaps you would soon weary of it .' " 
 
 " I ? Not easily, I think." 
 
 "There might be travel, too," she went on fervently. "We 
 should be rich, when other people, living in the ordinary vulgar 
 way, would have nothing to spare. No tours where the crowd 
 goes ; real travel in out-of-the-way parts." 
 
 " You are describing just what I should choose for myself; but 
 I shouldn't have dared to ask it of you." 
 
 " And why .' I told you that you knew so little of me. We are 
 only just beginning to understand each other." 
 
 " What place have you in mind ? " 
 
 "None. That would have to be thought about. Didn't you 
 say you were going to some beautiful spot in Wales ? " 
 
 Harvey reflected. 
 
 " I wonder whether you would like that " 
 
 " We are only supposing, you know. But show me where it is. 
 If you wait a moment, I'll fetch a map." 
 
 She rose quickly. He had just time to reach the door and open 
 it for her ; and as she rapidly passed him, eyes averted, the faint- 
 est and sweetest of perfumes was wafted upon his face. There he 
 stood till her return, his pulses throbbing. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 113 
 
 "This is my old school-atlas," she said gaily ; " I always use it 
 still." 
 
 She opened it upon the table and bent forward. 
 
 " North Wales, you said ? Show me " 
 
 He pointed with a finger that quivered. His cheek was not far 
 from hers ; the faint perfume floated all about him ; he could 
 imagine it the natural fragrance of her hair, of her breath. 
 
 " I see," she murmured. " That's the kind of place— far off, 
 but not too far. And the railway station ? " 
 . As he did not answer, she half turned towards him. 
 
 " The station .' — Yes. — Alma ! " 
 
 CHAPTER Xn 
 
 Mrs, Frothingham was overjoyed. In private talk with 
 Harvey she sang the praises of her step-daughter, whom, she 
 declared, any man might be proud to have won. For Alma her- 
 self had so much pride ; the characteristic, said Mrs. Frothingham, 
 which had put dangers in her path, and menaced her prospects of 
 happiness. 
 
 " There's no harm in saying, Mr. Rolfe, that I never dared to 
 hope for this. I thought perhaps that you — but I was afraid 
 Alma wouldn't listen to any one. Just of late, she seemed to feel 
 her position so much more than at first. It was my fault ; I 
 behaved so foolishly ; but I'm sure you'll both forgive me. For 
 months I really wasn't myself. It made the poor girl bitter 
 against all of us. But how noble she is ! How high-minded ! 
 And how much, much happier she will be than if she had struggled 
 on alone — whatever she might have attained to." 
 
 It was clear to Harvey that the well-meaning lady did not quite 
 understand Alma's sudden enthusiasm for the " simple life," that 
 she had but a confused apprehension of the ideal for which Alma 
 panted. But the suggestion of " economy " received her entire 
 approval. 
 
 " I feel sure you couldn't do better than to go and live in the 
 country for a time. There are so many reasons why Alma will 
 be happier there, at first, than in London. I don't know whether 
 
114 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 that place in North Wales would be quite — but I mustn't meddle 
 with what doesn't concern me. And you will be thoroughly inde- 
 pendent ; at any moment you can make a change." 
 
 To a suggestion that she should run down into Carnarvonshire, 
 and see her proposed home before any practical step was taken. 
 Alma replied that she had complete faith in Harvey Rolfe's judg- 
 ment. Harvey's only doubt was as to the possibility of finding a 
 house. He made the journey himself, and after a few days' 
 absence returned with no very hopeful report ; at present there 
 was nothing to be had but a cottage, literally a cotter's home, and 
 this would not do. He brought photographs, and Alma went 
 into raptures over the lovely little bay, with its grassy cliffs, its 
 rivulet, its smooth sand, and the dark-peaked mountains sweeping 
 nobly to a sheer buttress above the- waves. " There must be a 
 house ! There shall be a house I " Of course, said Harvey, one 
 could build, and cheaply enough ; but that meant a long delay. 
 Regarding the date of the marriage nothing was as yet decided, 
 but Harvey had made up his mind to be " at home " for Christmas. 
 When he ventured to hint at this. Alma evaded the question. 
 
 A correspondent would inform him if any house became tenant- 
 less. " I shall bribe some one to quit ! " he cried. " One might 
 advertise that all expenses would be paid, with one year's rent of 
 a house elsewhere. " Harvey was in excellent spirits, though time 
 hung rather heavily on his hands. 
 
 On an appointed day the ladies paid him a visit at his rooms. 
 Mrs. Handover, requested to prepare tea for a semi-ceremonious 
 occasion, was at once beset with misgivings, and the first sight of 
 the strangers plunged her into profound despondency. She con- 
 sulted her indifferent relative. Buncombe ; had he any inkling of the 
 possibility that Mr. Rolfe was about to change his condition ? 
 Buncombe knew nothing and cared nothing ; his own domestic 
 affairs were giving him more than usual anxiety just now. " I 
 didn't think he was fool enough " — thus only he replied to Mrs. 
 Handover's anxious questions. 
 
 Alma surveyed the book-shelves, and took down volumes with 
 an air of interest ; she looked over a portfolio of photographs, 
 inspected mementoes of travel from Cyprus, Palestine, Bag- 
 dad. Mrs. Frothingham noted to herself how dusty everything 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 115 
 
 " That woman neglects him scandalously," she said afterwards 
 to Ahua. " I wish 1 had to look after her when she is at work." 
 
 " I didn't notice any neglect. The tea wasn't very well made, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " My dear child ! the room is in a disgraceful state — never 
 dusted, never cleaned — oh dear ! " 
 
 Alma laughed. 
 
 " I'm quite sure, mamma, you are much happier now — in one 
 way — than when you never had to think of such things. You have 
 a genius for domestic operations. When I have a house of my 
 own I shall be rather afraid of you. " 
 
 " Oh, of course you will have good servants, my dear." 
 
 " How often have I to tell you, mamma, that we're not going to 
 live in that way at all ! The simplest possible furniture, the sim- 
 plest possible meals — everything subordinate to the higher aims 
 and pleasures.'' 
 
 ■' But you must have servants. Alma ! You can't sweep the 
 rooms yourself, and do the cooking ? " 
 
 " I'm thinking about it," the girl answered gravely. " Of 
 course, I shall not waste my time in coarse labour ; but I feel sure 
 we shall need only one servant — a competent, trustworthy woman, 
 after your own heart. It's snobbish to be ashamed of house-work ; 
 there are all sorts of things I should like to do, and that every 
 woman is better for doing." 
 
 " That is very true indeed. Alma. I can't say how I admire you 
 for such thoughts. But " 
 
 " The thing is to reduce such work to the strictly necessary. 
 Think of all the toil that is wasted in people's houses, for foolish 
 display and luxury. We sweep all that away at one stroke ! 
 Wait till you see. I'm thinking it out, making my plans." 
 
 In the pleasant little drawing-room, by the fireside (for it was 
 now October and chilly), Harvey and Alma had long, long con- 
 versations. Occasionally they said things that surprised each other 
 and led to explanations, debates, but harmony was never broken. 
 Rolfe came away ever more enslaved ; more impressed by the girl's 
 sweet reasonableness, and exalted by her glowing idealism. 
 Through amorous mists he still endeavoured to discern the real 
 Alma ; he reflected ceaselessly upon her character ; yet, much as 
 she often perplexed him, he never saw reason to suspect her of 
 
ii6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 disingenuousness. At times she might appear to excite herself un- 
 duly, to fall into excess of zeal ; it meant, no doubt, that the imagi- 
 native fervour she had been wont to expend on music was turned 
 in a new quarter. Alma remained herself — impulsive, ardent, en- 
 thusiastic, whether yearning for public triumphs, or eager to lead a 
 revolution in domestic life. Her health manifestly improved ; 
 languor was unknown to her ; her cheeks had a warmer hue, a 
 delicate carnation, subtly answering to her thoughts. 
 
 She abhorred sentimentality. This was one of her first intimate 
 declarations, and Harvey bore it in mind. He might praise, 
 glorify, extol her to the uttermost, and be rewarded by her sweet- 
 est smiles ; but for the pretty follies of amatory transport she had 
 no taste. Harvey ran small risk of erring in this direction ; he 
 admired and reverenced her maidenly aloofness ; her dignity he 
 found an unfailing charm, the great support of her own self- 
 respect. A caress was not at all times forbidden, but he asserted 
 the privilege with trembling diffidence. It pleased her, when he 
 entered the room, to be stately and rather distant of manner, to 
 greet him as though they were still on formal terms ; this troubled 
 Harvey at first, but he came to understand and like it. In Mrs. 
 Frothingham's presence, Alma avoided every sign of familiarity, 
 and talked only of indifferent things. 
 
 Early in November there came news that a certain family in the 
 little Welsh town would be glad to vacate their dwelling if a tenant 
 could at once be found for it. The same day Harvey travelled 
 northwards, and on the morrow he despatched a telegram to 
 Alma. He had taken the house, and could have possession in a 
 week or two. Speedily followed a letter of description. The 
 house was stone-built and substantial, but very plain ; it stood 
 alone and unsheltered by the roadside, a quarter of a mile from 
 the town, looking seaward ; it had garden ground and primitive 
 stabling. The rooms numbered nine, exclusive of kitchen ; small, 
 but not diminutive. The people were very friendly (Harvey 
 wrote), and gave him all aid in investigating the place, with a view 
 to repairs and so on ; by remaining for a few days he would be 
 able to consult with a builder, so as to have necessary work set in 
 train as soon as the present occupants were gone. 
 
 Alma's engagement had been kept strictly secret. When Har- 
 vey returned after a week of activity, he found her still reluctant 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 117 
 
 to fix a day, or even the month, for their wedding. He did not 
 plead, but wrote her a little letter, saying that the house could be 
 ready by— at all events— the second week in December ; that he 
 would then consult with her about furniture, and would go down 
 to superintend the final putting in order. "After that, it rests 
 with you to say when you will enter into possession. I promise 
 not to speak of it again until, on coming into the room, I see 
 your atlas lying open on the table ; that shall be a sign unto me." 
 
 On his return to London he received a note from Mrs. Frothing- 
 ham, requesting him to be at home at a certain hour, as. she 
 wished to call and speak privately with him. This gave him an 
 uneasy night ; he imagined all manner of vexatious or distracting 
 possibilities ; but Mrs. Frothingham brought no ill news. 
 
 " Don't be frightened," she began, reading his anxious face. 
 " All's well, and I am quite sure Alma will soon have something 
 to say to you. I have come on a matter of business — strictly busi- 
 iness." 
 
 Harvey felt a new kind of uneasiness. 
 
 " Let me speak in a plain way about plain things," pursued the 
 widow, with that shadow on her face which always indicated that 
 she was thinking of the mournful past. " I know that neither 
 Alma nor you would hear of her accepting money from me ; I 
 know I mustn't speak of it. All the better that you have no need 
 of money. But now that you are my relative — will be so very 
 soon — I want to tell you how my affairs stand. Will you let me ? 
 Please do ! " 
 
 Impossible to refuse a hearing to the good little woman, who 
 delighted in confidential gossip, and for a long time had been 
 anxious to pour these details into Harvey's ears. So she unfolded 
 everything. Her capital at Bennet Frothingham's death amounted 
 to more than sixteen thousand pounds, excellently invested — no 
 " Britannia " stocks or shares ! Of this, during the past six 
 months, she had given away nearly six thousand to sufferers by 
 the great catastrophe. Her adviser and administrator in this 
 affair was an old friend of her husband's, a City man of honourable 
 repute. He had taken great trouble to discover worthy recipients 
 of her bounty, and as yet had kept the source of it unknown. 
 
 " I mustn't give very much more," she said, looking at Harvey 
 with a pathetic deprecation of criticism. " I want to keep an in- 
 
ii8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 come of three hundred pounds. I could live on less, much less ; 
 but I should like still to have it in my power to do a little good 
 now and then, and 1 want to be able to leave something to my sis- 
 ter, or her children. The tryth is, Mr. Rolfe— no, I will call you 
 Harvey, once for all — the truth is, I couldn't live now without giv- 
 ing a little help here and there to people poorer than myself. 
 Don't think it foolish.'' Her voice quivered. " I feel that it will 
 be done in the name of my poor husband — as if he himself were 
 doing it, and making amends for a wrong he never, never in- 
 tended. If I had given up everything— as some people say I 
 ought to have done — it wouldn't have seemed the same to me. I 
 couldn't earn my own living, and what right had I to become a 
 burden to my relatives ? I hope I haven't done very wrong. Of 
 course, I shall give up the flat as soon as Alma is married. In 
 taking it I really thought more of her than of my own comfort. 
 I shall live with my sister, and come up to town just now and then, 
 when it is necessary.'' 
 
 The listener was touched, and could only nod grave approval.; 
 
 " There's another thing. Alma thinks with me in everything — 
 but she says I ought to let it be known who has given that money. 
 She says it would make many people less bitter against her father's 
 memory. Now, what is your opinion? If she is right in that " 
 
 Harvey would offer no counsel, and' Mrs. Frothingham did not 
 press him. She must think about it. The disclosure, if wise, 
 could be made at any time. 
 
 " That's all I had to say, Harvey. Now tell me about the house, 
 and then go and see Alma. I have business in the City. 
 
 He went, but only to be disappointed ; Alma was not at home. 
 To make amends, she sent him a note that evening, asking him to 
 call at twelve the next day, and to stay to luncheon. When he 
 entered the room, the first object his eye fell upon was the old 
 school atlas, lying open on the table at the map of England and 
 Wales. 
 
 And the day appointed was the twentieth of December. 
 
 The wedding was to be the simplest conceivable. No costume, 
 no bridesmaid or hulking groomsman, no invitations ; no an- 
 nouncement to any one until the day had passed, save only to 
 Dora Leach, who would be summoned as if for some ordinary oc- 
 casion of friendship, and then be carried off to the church. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 119 
 
 " It will ensure my smiling all through the ordeal," said Alma 
 to her step-mother ; " Dora's face will be such a study ! " 
 
 " My dear," began Mrs, Frothingham very earnestly, " you are 
 quite sure ? " 
 
 " More than sure, if that's possible. And Harvey throws up his 
 hat at being let off so easily. He dreaded the ceremony." 
 
 Which was very true, though Rolfe had not divulged it. 
 
 His personal possessions were now to be made ready for re- 
 moval. The books represented nearly all that he could carry away 
 from his old rooms, but they were a solid addendum to the gar- 
 nishing of home. For a moment he thought of selling a few score 
 of volumes. Would he ever really want those monumental tomes 
 — the six folios of Muratori, for instance, which he liked to possess, 
 but had never used ? Thereby hung the great, the unanswerable 
 question : How was he going to spend his life as a married man ? 
 Was it probable that he would become a serious student, or even 
 that he would study as much as heretofore ? No' foreseeing ; the 
 future must shape itself, even as the past had done. After all, 
 why dismember his library for the sake of saving a few shillings 
 on carriage ? If he did not use the books himself 
 
 A thought flashed through him which made his brain unsteady. 
 If he did not use the books himself, perhaps 
 
 He tried to laugh, but for five minutes was remarkably sober. 
 No, no ; of course he would keep his library intact. 
 
 And now there was a duty to perform : he must write to his 
 friends, make known his marriage ; the letters to be posted only 
 on the day of fate. Dear old Basil Morton— how he would stare ! 
 Morton should soon come down into Wales, and there would be 
 great quaffing and smoking and talking into the small hours ; a 
 jolly anticipation! And Hugh Carnaby ! Hugh would throw up 
 his great arms, clench his huge red fists, and roar with mocking 
 laughter. Good old boy ! out there on the other side of the world, 
 perhaps throwing away his money, with the deft help of a swin- 
 dler. And the poor lad, Cecil Morphew I who assuredly would 
 never pay back that fifty pounds— to which he was heartily wel- 
 come. Morphew had kept his promise to quit the garret in Chel- 
 sea, but what was since become of him Harvey knew not ; the 
 project of their going together into Wales had, of course, fallen 
 through. 
 
,2o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Lastly, Mary Abbott— for so had Harvey come to name his 
 friend's widow. Mary Abbott ! how would she receive this news? 
 It would come upon her as the strangest surprise ; not the mere 
 fact of his marrying, but that he had chosen for a wife, out of the 
 whole world, the daughter of Bennet Frothingham. Would she 
 be able to think kindly of him after this ? Of Mrs, Frothingham 
 she could speak generously, seeming to have outlived natural bit- 
 terness ; but the name must always be unwelcome to her ears. 
 Alma would cease to bear that name, and perhaps, in days to come, 
 Mary Abbott might forget it. He could only hope so, and that 
 the two women might come together. On Alma's side, surely, no 
 reluctance need be feared ; and Mary, after her ordeal, was giving 
 proof of sense and character which inspired a large trust. He 
 would write to her in the most open-hearted way ; indeed, no 
 other tone was possible, having regard to the relations that had 
 grown up between them. 
 
 How the aspect of his little world was changing ! A year ago, 
 what things more improbable than that he should win Alma 
 Frothingham for a wife, and become the cordial friend of Mary 
 Abbott ? 
 
 When the revelation could be postponed no longer, he made 
 known to Mrs. Handover that he was about to be married. It 
 cost him an extraordinary effort, for in a double sense he was 
 shamed before the woman. Mrs. Handover, by virtue of her sex, 
 instinctively triumphed over him. He saw in her foolish eyes the 
 eternal feminine victory ; his head was bowed before her slatternly 
 womanhood. Then again, he shrank from announ,cing to the poor 
 creature that she could no longer draw upon him for her liveli- 
 hood. 
 
 " I'm very sorry, Mr. Rolfe," she began, in her most despon- 
 dent voice. " That is, of course, I'm very glad you're going to be 
 married, and I'm sure I wish you every happiness — I do indeed. 
 But'we are sorry to lose you — indeed we are." 
 
 Of her sincerity herein there could be no sort of doubt. Harvey 
 coughed, and looked at the vvindow — which had not been cleaned 
 for some months. 
 
 " May I ask, without rudeness, whether it is the young lady who 
 came " 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Handover." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 121 
 
 He was uncommonly glad that Alma's name had never been 
 spoken. There, indeed, would have been matter for gossip. 
 
 " A very handsome young lady, Mr. Rolfe, and I'm sure I wish 
 her all happiness, as well as yourself." She fidgeted. " Of course, 
 I don't know what your plans may be, sir, but — perhaps there's no 
 harm if I mention it — if ever you should be in need of a house- 
 keeper — you've known me a long time, sir " 
 
 " Yes— yes— certainly." Harvey perspired. "Of course, I 
 should bear you in mind." 
 
 Thereupon he had to listen whilst Mrs. Handover discoursed at 
 large upon her dubious prospects. At the close of the interview, 
 he gave her a cheque for ten pounds, concealed in an envelope. 
 " A little present — of course, I shall be hearing of you — every 
 good wish " 
 
 On the eve of his marriage day he stood in the dismantled 
 rooms, at once joyful and heavy at heart. His books were hidden 
 in a score of packing-cases, labelled, ready to be sent away. In 
 spite of open windows, the air was still charged with dust ; 
 since the packing began, every one concerned in it had choked and 
 coughed incessantly ; on the. bare floor, footsteps were impressed 
 in a thick flocky deposit. These rooms could have vied with any 
 in London for supremacy of filthiness. Yet here he had known 
 hours of still contentment ; here he had sat with friends congenial, 
 and heard the walls echo their hearty laughter ; here he had felt 
 at home — here his youth had died. 
 
 Where all else was doubtful, speculative, contingent, that 
 one thing he certainly knew ; he was no longer a young man. 
 The years had passed like a shadow, unnoted, uncounted, and had 
 brought him to this point of pause, of change momentous, when 
 he must needs look before and after. In all likelihood much more 
 than half his life was gone. His mother did not see her thirtieth 
 year ; his father died at little over forty ; his grandparents were 
 not long-lived ; what chance had he of walking the earth for more 
 than half the term already behind him ? Did the life of every 
 man speed by so mockingly .' Yesterday a schoolboy ; to-morrow 
 — " Rolfe ? you don't say so ? Poor old fellow ! " 
 
 And he was going to be married. Incredible, laughter-moving, 
 but a fact. No more the result of deliberate purpose than any 
 other change that had come about in his life, than the flight of 
 
122 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 years and the vanishment of youth. Fate so willed it, and here he 
 stood." 
 
 Some one climbed the stairs, breaking upon his reverie. It 
 was Buncombe, who smiled through a settled gloom. 
 
 •' All done ? I shan't be much longer here myself. House too 
 big for me.' 
 
 " Ah ! it is rather large." 
 
 " I'm thinking of changes. — You know something about my 
 affairs. — ^Yes — changes " 
 
 Rolfe had never seen the man so dismal before ; he tried to 
 enspirit him, but with small result. 
 
 " It's the kids that bother me,'' said Buncombe. Then he 
 dropped his voice, and brought his head nearer. 
 
 " You're going to get married." His eyes glinted darkly. " I'm 
 — going to get divorced." 
 
 And with a grim nod the man moved away. 
 
PART THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A MORNING of April, more than two years after his marriage, 
 found Harvey Rolfe in good health and very tolerable spirits. As 
 his wont was, he came down at half-past eight, and strolled in the 
 open air before breakfast. There had been rain through the night ; 
 a grey mist still clung about the topmost larches of Carn Bodvean, 
 and the Eifel summits were densely wrapped. But the sun and 
 breeze of spring promised to have their way ; to drive and melt the 
 clouds, to toss white wavelets on a blue sea, to make the gorse 
 shine in its glory, and all the hills be glad. 
 
 A gardener was at work in front of the house ; Harvey talked 
 with him about certain flowers he wished to grow this year. In 
 the small stable-yard a lad was burnishing harness ; for him also 
 the master had a friendly word, before passing on to look at the 
 little mare amid her clean straw. In his rough suit of tweed and 
 shapeless garden hat, with brown face and cheery eye, Rolfe moved 
 hither and thither as though native to such a life. His figure had 
 filled out; he was more robust, and looked, indeed, younger than 
 on the day when he bade farewell to Mrs. Handover and her 
 abominations. 
 
 At nine o'clock he entered the dining-room, where breakfast was 
 ready, though as yet no other person had come to table. The 
 sun would not touch this window for several hours yet, but a 
 crackling fire made the air pleasant, and brightened all withm. 
 Seats were placed for three. An aroma of coffee invited to the 
 meal, which was characterised by no suggestion of asceticism. 
 Nor did the equipment of the room differ greatly from what is 
 usual in the middle-class houses. The clock on the mantelpiece 
 was flanked with bronzes ; engravings and autotypes hung about 
 the walls ; door and window had their appropriate curtaining ; the 
 
124 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 oak sideboard shone with requisite silver. Everything unpreten- 
 tious, but no essential of comfort, as commonly understood, 
 seemed to be lacking. 
 
 In a minute or two appeared Mrs. Frothingham, alert, light- 
 some, much improved in health since the first year of her widow- 
 hood. She had been visiting here for a fortnight, and to-morrow 
 would return to her home in the south. Movement, variety, in- 
 timate gossip, supported her under the affliction which still seemed 
 to be working for her moral good. Her bounty (or restitution) 
 had long ago ceased to be anonymous, but she did not unduly 
 pride herself upon the sacrifice of wealth ; she was glad to have it 
 known among her acquaintances, because, in certain quarters, 
 the fact released her from constraint, and restored her to friendly 
 intercourse. For her needs and her pleasures a very modest in- 
 come proved quite sufficient. To all appearances, she found 
 genuine and unfailing satisfaction in the exercise of benevolent 
 sympathies. 
 
 "Alma will not come down," was her remark, as she entered. 
 •• A little headache — nothing. We are to send her some tea and 
 dry toast.'' 
 
 " I thought she didn't seem quite herself last night," said Har- 
 vey as he cut into a ham. 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham made no remark, but smiled discreetly, tak- 
 ing a place at the head of the table. 
 
 "We shall have to go somewhere," Harvey continued. " It has 
 been a long winter. She begins to feel dull, I'm afraid." 
 
 ■■ A little, perhaps. But she's quite well — it's nothing " 
 
 ■ "Why won't she go on with her water-colours? She was be- 
 ginning to do really good things — then all at once gives it up." 
 
 " Oh, she must ! I think those last sketches simply wonderful. 
 Any one would suppose she had worked at it all her life, instead 
 of just a few months. How very clever she is ! " 
 
 " Alma can do anything," said Harvey, with genial conviction. 
 
 " Almost anything, I really think. Now don't let her lose in- 
 terest in it, as she did in her music. You have only to show that 
 you think her drawings good, and speak about them. She depends 
 rather upon encouragement." 
 
 " I know. But it wasn't for lack of my encouragement that she 
 dropped her violin." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL. 125 
 
 " So unfortunate ! Oh, she'll come back to it, I'm sure." 
 
 When Mrs. Frothingham paid her first visit to the newly married 
 couple, it amused her to find a state of things differing considerably 
 from her anxious expectations. True, they had only one servant 
 within doors, the woman named Ruth, but she did not represent 
 the whole establishment. Having bought a horse and trap, and 
 not feeling called upon to act as groom, Harvey had engaged a 
 man, who was serviceable in various capacities ; moreover, a lad 
 made himself useful about the premises during the day. Ruth 
 was a tolerable cook, and not amiss as a housemaid. Then, the 
 furnishing of the house, 'though undeniably " simple," left little to 
 be desired ; only such things were eschewed as serve no rational 
 purpose and are mostly in people's way. Alma, as could at once 
 be perceived, ran no risk of over-exerting herself in domestic 
 duties ; she moved about of mornings with feather-brush, and 
 occasionally plied an unskilful needle, but kitchenward she never 
 turned her steps. Imprudently, Mrs. Frothingham remarked that 
 this life, after all, much resembled that of other people ; whereat 
 Alma betrayed a serious annoyance, and the well-meaning lady 
 had to apologise, to admit the absence of " luxuries," the home- 
 liness of their diet, the unmistakable atmosphere of plain living 
 and high thinking. 
 
 She remained for nearly a month, greatly enjoying herself. 
 Late in Autumn, Alma begged her to come again, and this time 
 the visit lasted longer : for in the first week of December the 
 house received a new inhabitant, whose arrival made much commo- 
 tion. Alma did not give birth to her son without grave peril. 
 Day after day Harvey strode about the wintry shore under a cloud 
 of dread. However it had been with him a year ago, he was now 
 drawn to Alma by something other than the lures of passion ; the 
 manifold faults he had discerned in her did not seriously conflict 
 with her peculiar and many-sided charm ; and the birth of her 
 child inspired him with a new tenderness, an emotion different in 
 kind from any that he had yet conceived. That first wail of 
 feeblest humanity, faint-sounding through the silent night, made a 
 revolution in his thoughts, taught him on the moment more than 
 he had learnt from all his reading and cogitation. 
 
 It seemed to be taken as a matter of course that Alma would 
 not nurse the baby ; only to Harvey did this appear a subject for 
 
126 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 regret, and he never ventured to speak of it. The little mortal 
 was not vigorous ; his nourishment gave a great deal of trouble ; 
 but with the coming of spring he took a firmer hold on life, and 
 less persistently bewailed his lot. The names given to him were 
 Hugh Basil. When apprised of this, the strong man out in Aus- 
 tralia wrote a heart-warming letter, and sent with it a little lump 
 of Queensland gold, to be made into something, or kept intact, as 
 the parents saw fit. Basil Morton followed the old tradition, and 
 gave a silver tankard with name and date of the new world-citizen 
 engraved upon it. 
 
 Upon her recovery, Harvey took his wife to Madeira, where 
 they spent three weeks. Alma's health needed nothing more than 
 this voyage ; she returned full of vitality. During her absence 
 Mrs. Frothingham superintended the household, the baby being in 
 charge of a competent nurse. It occurred to Harvey that this 
 separation from her child was borne by Alma with singular phi- 
 losophy ; it did not affect in the least her enjoyment of travel. 
 But she reached home again in joyous excitement, and for a few 
 days kept the baby much in view. Mrs. Frothingham having de- 
 parted, new visitors succeeded each other : Dora and Gerda 
 Leach, Basil Morton and his wife, one or two of Alma's relatives. 
 Little Hugh saw less and less of his mother, but he continued to 
 thrive ; and Harvey understood by now that Alma must not be 
 expected to take much interest in the domestic side of things. It 
 simply was not her forte. 
 
 She had ceased to play upon her violin, save for the entertain- 
 ment and admiration of friends. After her return from Madeira 
 she made the acquaintance of a lady skilled in water-colour draw- 
 ing, and herewith began a new enthusiasm. Her progress was re- 
 markable, and corresponded to an energy not less than that she 
 had long- ago put forth in music. In the pursuit of landscape she 
 defied weather and fatigue ; she would pass half the night abroad, 
 studying moonlight, or rise at an unheard-of-hour to catch the 
 hues of dawn. When this ardour began to fail, her husband was 
 vexed rather than surprised. He knew Alma's characteristic 
 weakness, and did not like to be so strongly reminded of it. For 
 about this time he was reading and musing much on questions of 
 heredity. 
 
 In a moment of confidence he had ventured to ask Mrs. Froth- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 127 
 
 inghatn whether she could tell him anything of Alma's mother. 
 The question, though often in his mind, could hardly have passed 
 his lips, had not Mrs. Frothingham led up to it by speaking of her 
 own life before she married : how she had enjoyed the cares of 
 country housekeeping ; how little she had dreamt of ever being 
 rich ; how Bennet Frothingham, who had known her in his early 
 life, sought her out when he began to be prosperous, therein show- 
 ing the fine qualities of his nature, for she had nothing in the 
 world but gentle birth and a lady's education. Alma was then a 
 young girl of thirteen, and had been motherless for eight years. 
 Thus came Harvey's opportunity. Alma herself had already im- 
 parted to him all she knew ; that her mother was born in England, 
 emigrated early with her parents to Australia, returned to London 
 as a young woman, married, and died at twenty-seven. To this 
 story Mrs. Frothingham could add little, but the supplement 
 proved interesting. Bennet Frothingham spoke of his first mar- 
 riage as a piece of folly ; it resulted in unhappiness, yet, the 
 widow was assured, with no glaring fault on either side. Alma's 
 mother^was'^handsome, and had some natural gifts, especially a good 
 voice, which she tried to use in public, but without success. Her 
 education scarcely went beyond reading and writing. She died 
 suddenly, after an evening at the theatre, where, as usual, she had 
 excited herself beyond measure. Mrs. Frothingham had seen an 
 old report of the inquest that was held, the cause of death being 
 given as cerebral hemorrhage. In these details Harvey Rolfe 
 found new matter for reflection. 
 
 Their conversation at breakfast this morning was interrupted 
 by the arrival of letters ; two of them particularly welcome, for 
 they bore a colonial post-mark. Hugh Carnaby wrote to his 
 friend from an out-of-the-way place in Tasmania ; Sibyl wrote in- 
 dependently to Alma from Hobart. 
 
 " Just as I expected," said Harvey, when he had glanced over a 
 few lines. " He talks of coming home : — ' There seems no help 
 for it. Sibyl is much better in health since we left Queensland, 
 but I see she would never settle oilt here. She got to detest the 
 people at Brisbane, and doesn't like those at Hobart much better. 
 I have left her there whilst I'm doing a little roaming with a very 
 decent fellow I have come across, Mackintosh by name. He has 
 been everywhere and done everything— not long ago was in the 
 
128 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 service of the Indo-European Telegraph Company at Tehran, and 
 afterwards lived (this will interest you) at Bagdad, where he got a 
 date-boil, which marks his face and testifies to his veracity. He 
 has been trying to start a timber business here ; says some of the 
 hard woods would be just the thing for street paving. But now 
 his father's death is taking him back home, and I shouldn't wonder 
 if we travel together. One of his ideas is a bicycle factory ; he 
 seems to know all about it, and says it'll be the most money-mak- 
 ing business in England for years to come. What do you think.' 
 Does this offer a chance for me ? ' " 
 
 Harvey interrupted himself with a laugh. Smelting of aban- 
 doned gold ores, by the method of the ingenious Dando, had ab- 
 sorbed some of Hugh's capital, with very little result, and his 
 other schemes for money-making were numerous. 
 
 " • The fact is, I must get money somehow. Living has been 
 expensive ever since we left England, and it's madness to go on 
 till one's resources have practically run out. And Sibyl musi get 
 home again ; she's wasting her life among these people. How 
 does she write to your wife ? I rather wish I could spy at the 
 letters. (Of course, I don't seriously mean that.) She bears it 
 very well, and, if possible, I have a higher opinion of her than 
 ever.' " 
 
 Again Harvey laughed. 
 
 " Good old chap ! What a pity he can't be cracking crowns 
 somewhere ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I'm sure I'd rather see him making bicycles.'' 
 
 " 'Tisn't his vocation. He ought to go somewhere and get up a 
 little war of his own — as he once told me he should like to. We 
 can't do without the fighting man." 
 
 " Will you bring Hughie up to it, then ? " 
 
 Harvey fixed his eyes on a point far off. 
 
 " I fear he won't have the bone and muscle. But I should like 
 him to have the pluck. I'm afraid he mayn't, for I'm a vile cow- 
 ard myself." 
 
 " I should like a child never to hear or know of war," said Mrs. 
 Frothingham fervently. 
 
 " And so should I," Harvey answered, in a graver tone. 
 
 When Mrs. Frothingham went upstairs with the letter for 
 Alma, he broke open another envelope. It was from Mary Ab- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 129 
 
 bott, who wrote to him twice a year, when she acknowledged the 
 receipt of his cheque. She sent the usual careful report concern- 
 ing Wager's children— the girl now seven years old, and the boy 
 nine. Albert Wager, she thought, was getting too old for her ; 
 he ought to go to a boys' school. Neither he nor his sister had as 
 yet repaid the care given to them ; never were children more dif- 
 ficult to manage. Harvey read this between the lines ; for Mary 
 Abbott never complained of the task she had undertaken. He 
 rose and left the room with a face of anxious thoughtfulness. 
 
 The day was wont to pass in a pretty regular routine. From 
 half-past nine to half-past one Harvey sat alone in his study, not 
 always energetically studious, but on the whole making progress 
 in his chosen field of knowledge. He bought books freely, and 
 still used the Londort Library. Of late he had been occupying 
 himself with the authorities on education ; working, often im- 
 patiently, through many a long-winded volume. He would have 
 liked to talk on this subject with Mary Abbott, but had not yet 
 found courage to speak of her paying them a visit. The situation, 
 difficult because of Alma's parentage, was made more awkward 
 by his reticence with Alma regarding the payment he made for 
 those luckless children. The longer he kept silence, the less easily 
 could he acquaint his wife with this matter — in itself so perfectly 
 harmless. 
 
 This morning he felt indisposed for study, and cared just as 
 little to go out, notwithstanding the magnificent sky. From his 
 windows he looked upon the larch-clad slopes of Carn Bodvean ; 
 their beauty only reminded him of grander and lovelier scenes in 
 far-off countries. From time to time the wanderer thus awoke in 
 him, and threw scorn upon the pedantries of a book-lined room. 
 He had, moreover, his hours of regret for vanished conviviality ; 
 he wished to step out into a London street, collect his boon-com- 
 panions, and hold revel in the by-gone way. These, however, 
 were still but fugitive moods. All in all, he regretted nothing. 
 Destiny seemed to have marked him for a bookish man ; he grew 
 more methodical, more persistent, in his historical reading ; this, 
 doubtless, was the appointed course for his latter years. It led to 
 nothing definite. His life would be fruitless 
 
 Fruitless.? There sounded from somewhere in the house a 
 shrill little cry, arresting his thought, and controverting it without 
 
I30 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 a syllable. Nay, fruitless his life could not be, if his child grew up. 
 Only the chosen few, the infinitesimal minority of mankind, leave 
 spiritual offspring, or set their single mark upon the earth ; the 
 multitude are but parents of a new generation, live but to perpetu- 
 ate the race. It is the will of nature, the common lot. And if in- 
 deed it lay within his power to shape a path for this new life, which 
 he, nature's slave, had called out of nothingness, — to obviate one 
 error, to avert one misery, — to ensure that, in however slight de- 
 gree, his son's existence should be better and happier than his own, 
 — was not this a sufficing purpose for the years that remained to 
 him, a recompense adequate to any effort, any sacrifice ? 
 
 As he sat thus in reverie, the door softly opened, and Alma 
 looked in upon him. 
 
 " Do I interrupt you ? " 
 
 " I'm idling. How is your headache ? " 
 
 She answered with a careless gesture, and came forward, a letter 
 in her hand. 
 
 " Sibyl says she will certainly be starting for home in a few 
 weeks. Perhaps they're on the way by now. You have the same 
 news, I hear." 
 
 " Yes. They must come to us straight away,'' replied Harvey, 
 knocking the ash out of his pipe. " Or suppose we go to meet 
 them ? If they come by the Orient Line, they call at Naples. 
 How would it be to go overland, and make the voyage back with 
 them .' " 
 
 Alma seemed to like the suggestion, and smiled, but only for a 
 moment. She had httle colour this morning, and looked cold, as 
 she drew up to the fire, holding a white woollen wrap about her 
 shoulders. A slow and subtle modification of her features was 
 tending to a mature beauty which would make bolder claim than 
 the charm that had characterised her in maidenhood. It was still 
 remote from beauty of a sensual type, but the outlines, in becoming 
 a little more rounded, more regular, gained in common estimate 
 what they lost to a more refined apprehension. Her eyes appeared 
 more deliberately conscious of their depth and gleam ; her lips, less 
 responsive to the flying thought, grew to an habitual expression — 
 not of discontent, but something akin unto it ; not of self-will, but 
 something that spoke a spirit neither tranquil nor pliant. 
 
 " Had you anything else ? " she asked, absently. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 131 
 
 " A letter from Mrs. Abbott." 
 
 Alma smiled, with a shade of pleasantry not usual upon her 
 countenance. Harvey generally read her extracts from these 
 letters. Their allusion to money imposed the reserve ; otherwise 
 they would have passed into Alma's hands. From his masculine 
 point of view, Harvey thought the matter indifferent; nothing in 
 his wife's behaviour hitherto had led him to suppose that she at- 
 tached importance to it. 
 
 " The usual report of progress ? " 
 
 " Yes. I fancy those two children are giving her a good deal of 
 trouble. She'll have to send the boy to a boarding-school." 
 
 " But can she afford it ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " I've never understood yet why you take so much interest in 
 those children." 
 
 Her eyes rested upon him with a peculiarly keen scrutiny, and 
 Harvey, resenting the embarrassment due to his own tactics, 
 showed a slight impatience. 
 
 " Why, partly because I wish to help Mrs. Abbott with advice, 
 if I can ; partly because I'm interested in the whole question of 
 education." 
 
 " Yes, it's interesting, of course. She has holidays, I suppose ? " 
 
 " It's holiday time with her now.'' 
 
 " Then why don't you ask her to come and see us ? " 
 
 " I would at once," Harvey replied, with hesitation, " if I felt 
 sure that " He broke off, and altered the turn of his sen- 
 tence. " I don't know whether she can leave those children." 
 
 " You were going to make a different objection. Of course 
 there's a little awkwardness. But you said long ago that all that 
 sort of thing would wear away, and surely it ought to have done 
 by now. If Mrs. Abbott is as sensible as you think, I don't see 
 how she can have any unpleasant feeling towards me." 
 
 " I can't suppose that she has." 
 
 " Then now is the opportunity. Send an invitation. — Why 
 shouldn't I write it myself ? " 
 
 Alma had quite shaken off the appearance of lassitude ; she 
 drew herself up, looked towards the writing-table, and showed 
 characteristic eagerness to cany out a project. Though doubtful 
 of the result, Harvey assented without any sign ot reluctance, and 
 
132 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 forthwith she moved to the desk. In a few minutes she had 
 penned a letter, which was held out for her husband's perusal. 
 
 " Admirable ! " he exclaimed. " Couldn't be better. Nihil 
 quod teiigit non ornavit." 
 
 " And pray what does that mean ? " asked Alma, her counte- 
 nance a trifle perturbed by the emotions which blended with her 
 delight in praise. 
 
 " That my wife is the most graceful of women, and imparts to 
 all she touches something of her own charm.'' 
 
 " All that ? " 
 
 " Latin, you must know, is the language of compression.'' 
 
 They parted with a laugh. As she left the study. Alma saw 
 her little son just going out ; the nurse had placed him in his mail- 
 cart, where he sat smiling and cooing. Mrs. Frothinghara, who 
 delighted in the child, had made ready for a walk in the same 
 direction, and from the doorway called to Alma to accompany 
 them. 
 
 " I may come after you, perhaps," was the reply. " Ta-ta, 
 Hughie ! " 
 
 With a wave of her hand, Alma passed into the sitting-room, 
 where she stood at the window, watching till Mrs. Frothinghara's 
 sunshade had disappeared. Then she moved about, like one in 
 search of occupation ; taking up a book only to throw it down 
 again, gazing vacantly at a picture, or giving a touch to a bowl of 
 flowers. Here, as in the dining-room, only the absence of con- 
 ventional superfluities called for remark ; each article of furniture 
 was in simple taste ; the result, an impression of plain elegance. 
 On a little corner table lay Alma's colour-box, together with a 
 drawing-board, a sketching-block, and the portfolio which con- 
 tained chosen examples of her work. Not far away, locked in its 
 case, lay her violin, the instrument she had been wont to touch 
 caressingly ; to-day her eyes shunned it. 
 
 She went out again into the little hall. The front door stood 
 open ; sunshine flooded the garden ; but Alma was not tempted 
 to go forth. All the walks and drives of the neighbourhood had 
 become drearily familiar ; the meanest of London streets shone 
 by contrast as a paradise in her imagination. With a deep sigh 
 of ennui, she turned and slowly ascended the stairs. 
 
 Above were six rooms ; three of them the principal chambers 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 133 
 
 (her own, Harvey's, and the guest-room), then the day -nursery, 
 the night-nursery, and the servant's bedroom. On her firet com- 
 ing, she had thought the house needlessly spacious ; now it often 
 seemed to her oppressively small, there being but one spare room 
 for visitors. She entered her own room. It could not be called 
 disorderly, yet it lacked that scrupulous perfection of arrange- 
 ment, that dainty finish, which makes an atmosphere for the 
 privacy of a certain type of woman. Ruth had done her part, 
 preserving purity unimpeachable ; the deficiency was due to Alma 
 alone. To be sure, she had neither dressing-room nor lady's- 
 maid ; and something in Alma's constitution made it difficult for 
 her to dispense with such aids to the complete life. 
 
 She stood before the mirror, and looked at herself, blankly, 
 gloomily. Her eyes fell a little, and took a new expression, that of 
 anxious scrutiny. Gazing still, she raised her arms, much as 
 though she were standing to be measured by a dress-maker ; then 
 she turned, so as to obtain a view of her figure sideways. Her 
 arms fell again, apathetically, and she moved away. 
 
 Somehow, the long morning passed. In the afternoon she drove 
 with Harvey and Mrs. Frothingham, conversing much as usual, 
 giving no verbal hint of her overwhelming ennui. No reference 
 was made to Mrs. Abbott. Harvey had himself written her a let- 
 ter, supporting Alma's invitation with all possible cordiality ; but 
 he gravely feared that she would not come. 
 
 At ten, according to custom, little Hugh was brought into the 
 room, to be fondled by his mother, who liked to see him when he 
 ■was prettily dressed, and to sit upon his father's knee. Hugh, 
 aged sixteen months, began to have a vocabulary of his own, and 
 to claim a share in conversation ; he had a large head, well formed, 
 and slight but shapely limbs ; the sweet air of sea and moun- 
 tain gave a healthful, though very delicate, colouring to his cheeks ; 
 his eyes were Alma's, dark and gleaming, but with promise of a 
 keener intelligence. Harvey liked to gaze long at the little face, 
 puzzled by its frequent gravity, delighted by its flashes of mirth. 
 Syllables of baby-talk set him musing and philosophising. How 
 fresh and young, yet how wondrously old ! Babble such as this 
 fell from a child's lips thousands of years ago, in the morning of the 
 world ; it sounded on through the ages, infinitely reproduced ; eter- 
 nally a new beginning ; the same music of earliest human speech. 
 
134 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 the same ripple of innocent laughter, renewed from generation to 
 generation. But he, listening, had not the merry, fearless pride of 
 fathers in an earlier day. Upon him lay the burden of all time ; 
 he must needs ponder anxiously on his child's heritage, use his 
 weary knowledge to cast the horoscope of this dawning life. 
 
 " Why are you looking at him in that way ? " exclaimed Alma. 
 " You'll frighten him." 
 
 " How did I look ? " 
 
 " As if you saw something dreadful." 
 
 Harvey laughed, and ran his fingers through the soft curls, and 
 bade himself be of good heart. Had he not thrown scorn upon 
 people who make a " fuss " about their children .' Had he not 
 despised and detested chatter about babies .' To his old self what 
 a simpleton would he have seemed ! 
 
 On the morrow Mrs. Frothinghara took her departure ; leav- 
 ing it, as usual, uncertain when she would come again, but pleas- 
 antly assured that it could not be very long. She thought Harvey 
 the best of husbands ; he and Alma, the happiest of married folk. 
 In secret, no doubt, she sadly envied them. If her own lot had 
 fallen in such tranquil places ! 
 
 Two more days, and Alma received a reply to her invitation. 
 Yes, Mrs. Abbott would come, and be with them for a week ; 
 longer she could not. Her letter was amiable and well-worded as 
 Alma's own. Harvey felt a great relief, and it pleased him not a 
 little to see his wife's unfeigned satisfaction. This was Monday; 
 the visitor promised to arrive on Tuesday evening. 
 
 " Of course you'll drive over with me to meet her," said Harvey. 
 
 " I think not. I dislike making acquaintance at railway stations. 
 If it should rain, you'll have to have a covered carriage, and imagine 
 us three shut up together ! " 
 
 Alma laughed gaily at the idea. Harvey, though at a loss to in- 
 terpret her merriment, answered it with a smile, and said no more. 
 Happily, the weather was settled ; the sun shone gallantly each 
 morning; and on Tuesday afternoon Harvey drove the seven 
 miles, up hill and down, between hedges of gorse and woods of 
 larch, to the little market-town where Mary Abbott would alight 
 after her long journey. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 135 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Half-an-hour after sunset Alma heard the approach of 
 wheels. She had long been ready to receive her visitor, and 
 when the horse stopped, she stood by the open door of the sitting- 
 room, commanding her nervousness, resolute to make an impres- 
 sion of grace and dignity. It would have eased her mind had she 
 been able to form some idea of Mrs. Abbott's personal appear- 
 ance ; Harvey had never dropped a hint on the subject, and she 
 could not bring herself to question him. The bell rang; Ruth 
 hastened to answer it ; Harvey's voice sounded. 
 
 " It turns chilly after the warm sunshine. I'm afraid we ought 
 to have had a covered carriage.'' 
 
 " Then I should have seen nothing," was replied in softer tones. 
 " The drive was most enjoyable." 
 
 There came into the lamplight a rather tall figure in plain, 
 serviceable travelling-costume. Alma discerned a face which gave 
 her a shock of surprise, so unlike was it to anything she had im- 
 agined ; the features regular and of intelligent expression, but so 
 thin, pallid, worn, that they seemed to belong to a woman of 
 nearly forty, weighted by years of extreme suffering. The de- 
 meanour which Alma had studiously prepared underwent an 
 immediate change ; she stepped forward with an air of frank kind- 
 liness, of cordial hospitality. 
 
 " Wasn't your train late ? How tired you must be — and how 
 cold ! In these fine spring days we have been living as if it were 
 midsummer, but I'm sure you oughtn't to have had that long 
 drive in the open trap so late. Harvey thinks everybody^as robust 
 as himself " 
 
 But the guest was in very good spirits, though manifestly fa- 
 tigued. She spoke with pleasure of the beautiful wild country, 
 glowing in sunset. A little tired, yes ; she had not travelled so 
 far for a long time ; but the air had braced her wonderfully, and 
 after a night's rest 
 
 At dinner Alma behaved with the same friendliness, closely ob- 
 serving her guest, and listening to all she said, as if anxious not 
 to miss a word. Mrs. Abbott conversed in a very low voice , her 
 
136 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 manner was marked by a subdual which might partly be attribu- 
 table to weariness, but seemed in a measure the result of timidity 
 under novel circumstances. If she looked at either of her com- 
 panions, her eyes were instantly withdrawn. A smile never 
 lingered on her features ; it came and passed, leaving the set ex- 
 pression of preoccupied gravity. She wore a dress of black silk, 
 close at the neck ; and Alma perceived that it was by no means 
 new. 
 
 An hour after the meal she begged permission to retire to her 
 room. The effort to talk had become impossible ; she was at the 
 end of her strength, and could hold up no longer. 
 
 When Alma came down again, she stood for a minute before 
 the fire, smiling and silent. Harvey had picked up a newspaper ; 
 he said nothing. 
 
 •' How very nice she is ! " fell at length from Mrs. Rolfe's 
 lips. 
 
 " Astonishingly altered, " was her husband's murmured reply. 
 
 '• Indeed .' In what way ? " 
 
 " Looks so wretchedly ill, for one thing.'' 
 
 " We must take her about. What do you think of doing to- 
 morrow.'' " 
 
 By feminine device of indirect question. Alma obtained some 
 understanding of the change that had come upon Mrs. Abbott 
 during the past three years. Harvey's disclosures did not violate 
 the reticence imposed upon him by that hour in which he had 
 beheld a woman's remorseful anguish ; he spoke only of such 
 things as were manifest to every one who had known Mary Abbott 
 before her husband's death ; of her social pleasures, her intellec- 
 tual ambitions, suddenly overwhelmed by a great sorrow. 
 
 " I suppose she ought to be doing much better things than 
 teaching children," said Alma. 
 
 " Better things ? " repeated Harvey, musing. " I don't know. 
 It all depends how you regard it." 
 
 " Is she very clever ? " 
 
 " Not appallingly," he answered, with a laugh. " It's very pos- 
 sible she is doing just what she ought to be — neither more nor less. 
 Her health seems to be the weak point.'' 
 
 " Do you think she has enough to live upon ? " 
 
 Harvey knitted his brows and looked uneasy. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 137 
 
 " I hope so. Of course it must be a very small income; but I 
 dare say those friends of hers at Gunnersbury make life a little 
 easier." 
 
 " I feel quite sorry for her," said Alma, with cheerfulness. " I 
 hadn't realised her position. We must make her stay as long as 
 she can. Yes, if it's fine again, we might drive to Tre'r Caeri. 
 That would interest her, no doubt. She likes history, doesn't she .' 
 — the same things that you are fond of." 
 
 At breakfast Mrs. Abbott appeared with a much brighter coun- 
 tenance ; refreshed in body and mind, she entered gladly into the 
 plans that had been made for the day, talked with less restraint, 
 and showed an interest in all her surroundings. But her demean- 
 our still had the air of self-subdual which seemed at moments to 
 become a diffidence bordering on humility. This was emphasised 
 by its contrast with the bearing of her hostess. Alma had never 
 shown herself to more brilliant advantage ; kind interpretation 
 might have thought that she had set herself to inspirit the guest in 
 every possible way. Her face was radiant with good-humour and 
 vivacity ; she looked the incarnation of joyous, healthy life. The 
 flow of her spirited talk seemed to aim at exhibiting the joys and 
 privileges of existence in places such as this. She represented her- 
 self as glorying in the mountain heights, and in solitary tracts of 
 shore. Here were no social burdens, or restrictions, or extrava- 
 gances; one lived naturally, simply, without regrets for wasted 
 time, and without fear of the morrow. To all this Mary Abbott 
 paid the tribute of her admiration, perhaps of her envy ; and Alma 
 grew the more animated, the more she felt that she had impressed 
 her hearer. 
 
 Harvey wondered at this sudden revival of his wife's drooping 
 energies. But he did not consider the phenomenon too curiously ; 
 enough that Alma was brilliant and delightful, that she played her 
 part of hostess to perfection, and communicated to their guest 
 something of her own vitality. 
 
 They had an exhilarating drive through the mountains to Tre'r 
 Caeri, a British fastness on a stern bare height ; crumbled dwell- 
 ings amid their great protecting walls, with cairn and cromlech 
 and mystic circles ; where in old time the noise of battle clanged 
 amid these grey hills, now sleeping in sunlight. And from Tre'r 
 Caeri down into the rocky gloom of the seaward chasm, Nant Gwr- 
 
138 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 theyrn, with its mound upon the desolate shore, called by legend 
 the burial-place of Vortigern. Here Mrs. Abbott spoke of the pre- 
 historic monuments she had seen in Brittany, causing Alma to 
 glance at her with a sudden surprise. The impulse was very signi- 
 ficant. Thinking of her guest only as a poverty-stricken teacher 
 of children. Alma forgot for the moment that this subdued woman 
 had known happier days, when she too boasted of liberty, and 
 stored her mind in travel. After all, as soon appeared, the travels 
 had been of very modest extent ; and Alma, with her knowledge 
 of many European countries, and her recent ocean voyage, 
 regained the confident superiority which kept her in such admi- 
 rable humour. 
 
 Mary Abbott, reluctant to converse on things that regarded her- 
 self, afforded Alma every opportunity of shining. She knew of 
 Mrs. Rolfe's skill as a musician, and this same evening uttered a 
 hope that she might hear her play. The violin came forth from its 
 retirement. Playing, it seemed at first, without much earnestness, 
 as though it were but a pastime, Alma presently chose one of her 
 pageant pieces, and showed of what she was capable. Lack of 
 practice had told upon her hand, but the hearers were uncritical, as 
 she well knew. 
 
 " That's magnificent," said Harvey, with a mischievous smile. 
 " But do condescend now to the primitive ear. Let us have some- 
 thing of less severity." 
 
 Alma glanced at Mrs. Abbott, who had softly murmured her 
 thanks ; then turned an eye upon her husband, saying wickedly, 
 " Home, Sweet Home ? " 
 
 "I've no doubt you could play it wonderfully — as you would 
 'Three Blind Mice.'" 
 
 Alma looked good-natured disdain, and chose next a Tarantelle 
 of Schubert. The exertion of playing brought warm colour into 
 her face ; it heightened her beauty, and she was conscious of it ; 
 so that when she chanced to find Mrs. Abbott's look fixed upon 
 her, a boundless gratification flashed from her own dark eyes, and 
 spoke in the quiver of her lips. 
 
 Next evening, when again requested to play, she sat down to 
 the piano. On this instrument Alma had not the same confidence 
 as with the violin ; but she could not refrain from exhibiting such 
 skill as she possessed, Mrs. Abbott having declared that her own 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 139 
 
 piano-playing was elementary. Meantime, the portfolio of water- 
 colours had of course been produced for exhibition. In this art, 
 though she did not admit it, Mrs. Abbott had formerly made some 
 progress ; she was able to form a judgment of Alma's powers, 
 and heard with genuine surprise in how short a time this point 
 had been attained. Alma again glowed with satisfaction. 
 
 She found a new source of pride in her motherhood. Not hav- 
 ing been told, or having forgotten, that Mrs. Abbott had lost a 
 child, she playfully offered assurance that the guest should not be 
 worried with nursery talk. 
 
 " Children are anything but a delight to you, I'm afraid ; you 
 must have too much of them." 
 
 " They often give me trouble," Mrs. Abbott replied. " But I 
 wish I had one more to trouble me. My little girl would have 
 been six years old by now." 
 
 Alma gave one of those looks which occasionally atoned for 
 many less amiable glances. 
 
 " I'm so sorry — I didn't know 
 
 Mrs. Abbott did not dwell on the subject. Her reserve was 
 still unbroken, though there never appeared the least coldness in 
 her manner ; she talked with perfect freedom of everything that 
 contained no allusion to herself. The change was manifestly do- 
 ing her good ; even by the second day she showed an increase of 
 vigour, and. no longer wore the preoccupied, over-strained look. 
 Becoming familiar with her face, Alma thought it more attractive 
 than at first, and decidedly younger. She still had a great deal of 
 curiosity to satisfy with regard to Mrs. Abbott ; especially it 
 seemed strange to her that Harvey and his friend were so little 
 inclined for conversation ; they talked only of formal, uninteresting 
 things, and she wondered whether, after all, they really had much 
 in common. 
 
 " Take Mrs. Abbott for a walk to-morrow morning," she said in 
 private ; " you must have so many things to talk about— by your- 
 selves. " 
 
 " I don't know that we have," Harvey returned, looking at her 
 with some surprise. " I want to hear a little more about those 
 youngsters, that's all." 
 
 Mrs. Abbott wished to climb Carn Bodvean, the great hill, clad 
 in tender green of larch-woods, which overlooked the town. For 
 
HO THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 the toil of this ascent Alma had no mind ; pleasantly excusing 
 herself, she proposed at breakfast that Harvey and Mrs. Abbott 
 should go alone ; they might descend on the far side of the moun- 
 tain, and there, at a certain point known to her husband, she would 
 meet them with the dog-cart. Harvey understood this to mean 
 that the man would drive her ; for Alma had not yet added the 
 art of driving to her various accomplishments ; she was, indeed, 
 timid with the reins. He readily assented to the plan, which, for 
 some reason, appeared to amuse and exhilarate her. 
 
 " Don't be in a hurry,'' she said. " There'll be a good view on 
 a day like this, and you can have a long rest at the top. If you 
 meet me at half-past one, we shall be back for lunch at two." 
 
 When they started. Alma came out to the garden gate, and 
 dismissed them with smiling benignity ; one might have expected 
 her to say " Be good ! " as when children are trusted to take a 
 walk without superintendence. On re-entering, she ran quickly to 
 an upper room, where from the window she could observe them 
 for a few minutes, as they went along in conversation. Presently 
 she bade her servant give directions for the dog-cart to be brought 
 round at one o'clock. 
 
 " Williams to drive, ma'am ? " said Ruth, who had heard some- 
 thing of the talk at breakfast. 
 
 " No," Alma replied with decision. " I shall drive myself." 
 
 The pedestrians took their way along a winding road, between 
 boulder walls thick set with the new leaves of pennywort ; then 
 crossed the one long street of the town (better named a village), 
 passing the fountain, overbuilt with lichened stone, where women 
 and children filled their cans with sweet water, sparkling in the 
 golden light. Rolfe now and then received a respectful greeting. 
 He had wished to speak Welsh, but soon abandoned the endea- 
 vour. He liked to hear it, especially on the lips of children at their 
 play. An old, old language, symbol of the vitality of a race, 
 sounding on those young lips as in the time when his own Eng- 
 lish, composite, hybrid, had not yet begun to shape itself. 
 
 Beyond the street and a row of cottages, they began to climb ; 
 at first a gentle ascent, on either hand high hedges of flowering 
 blackthorn, banks strewn with primroses and violets, and starred 
 with the white stitchwort ; great leaves of fo.xglove giving promise 
 for future days. The air was bland, yet exquisitely fresh ; scented 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 141 
 
 from innumerable sources in field and heath and wood. When 
 the lane gave upon open ground, they made a pause to look back. 
 Beneath them lay the little grey town, and beyond it the grassy 
 cliffs, curving about a blue bay. Near by rose the craggy slopes 
 of a bare hill, and beyond it, a few miles to the north, two lofty 
 peaks, wreathed against the cloudless heaven with rosy mist. 
 
 " Sure it won't be too much for you ? " said Harvey looking up- 
 wards to the wooded height. 
 
 " I feel equal to anything," answered his companion brightly. 
 " This air has given me new life." 
 
 There was a faint colour on her cheeks, and for the first time 
 Harvey caught an expression which reminded him of the face he 
 had known years ago, when Mrs. Abbott looked upon life much as 
 Alma did now. 
 
 They entered upon a rising heath, green with mosses where the 
 moisture of a hidden stream drew downwards, brown with dead 
 bracken on dry slopes. Just above was a great thicket of flowering 
 gorse ; a blaze of colour, pure, aerial, as that of the sky which il- 
 lumined it. Through this they made their way, then dropped into 
 a green nook of pasture, among sheep that raised their heads dis- 
 trustfully, and loud-bleating lambs, each running to its mother. 
 
 " If you can scale this wall, it will save us a quarter-of-an-hour." 
 
 " If you can, I can,'' was the laughing reply. 
 
 Protruding boulders made it an easy clamber. They were then 
 at the base of Cam Bodvean, and before them rose steep mountain 
 glades. Mrs. Abbott gazed upwards with unspoken delight. 
 
 " There are no paths," said Harvey. " It's honest woodland. 
 Some day it will be laid out with roads and iron benches, with 
 finger-posts, ' To the summit.' " 
 
 " You think so .'' " 
 
 " Why, of course. It's the destiny of every beautiful spot in 
 Britain. There'll be a pier down yonder, and a switchback rail- 
 way, and leagues of lodging-houses, and brass bands.'' 
 
 '• Let us hope we shall be dead." 
 
 .' Yes— but those who come after us ? What sort of a world, 
 will it be for Hugh ? I often think I should be wrong if I taught 
 him to see Hfe as I do. Isn't it only preparing misery for him .' I 
 ought to make him delight in piers, and nigger minstrels, and 
 switchbacks. A man should belong to his time." 
 
142 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " But a man helps to make his time," replied Mary Abbott. 
 
 " True. You are hopeful, are you ? " 
 
 " I try very hard to be. What use am \, if I don't put a few 
 thoughts into children's heads which will help to make their lives 
 a little better ? " 
 
 Harvey nodded. 
 
 Their feet sank in the mossy ruin of immemorial summer. Over- 
 head, the larch-boughs dangled green tresses, or a grove of beech 
 shook sunlight through branches decked with translucent gold. 
 Now and then they came out into open spaces, where trees rent from 
 the soil, dead amid spring's leafage, told of a great winter storm ; 
 new grass grew thickly about the shattered trunks, and in the hol- 
 lows whence the roots had been torn. One moment they stood in 
 shadow ; the next, moved upward into a great splash of sunshine, 
 thrown upon moss that still glistened with the dews of the night, 
 and on splints of crag painted green and gold with lichen. Sun or 
 shadow, the sweet fir-scents breathed upon their faces, mingled 
 with many a waft of perfume from little woodland plants. 
 
 More than once Mrs. Abbott had to pause. Midway she was 
 tempted by a singular resting-place. It was a larch tree, perhaps 
 thirty feet high ; at the beginning of its growth, the stem had by 
 some natural means been so diverted as to grow horizontally for a 
 yard or more at a couple of feet above the ground ; it had then 
 made a curve downwards, and finally, by way of a perfect loop 
 across itself, had shot again in the true direction, growing at last, 
 with straight and noble trunk, like its undistorted neighbours. 
 Much wondering at so strange a deformity, Mrs. Abbott seated 
 herself on the level portion, and Harvey, as he stood before her, 
 told a fancy that had come to him when for the first time he 
 chanced to climb this way. Might not the tree represent some 
 human life ? A weak, dubious, all but hopeless beginning ; a 
 check ; a return upon itself ; a laboured circling ; last a healthful 
 maturity, upright, triumphing. He spoke with his eyes on the 
 ground. Raising them at the end, he was astonished to see that 
 his companion had flushed deeply ; and only then it occurred to him 
 that this parable might be applied by the hearer to herself. 
 
 " To make a confession," he added at once, " it forcibly re- 
 minded me of my own life — except that I can't pretend to be ' tri- 
 umphing.' " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 143 
 
 Hjs laugh did not cover the embarrassment with which he dis- 
 covered that, if anything, he had made matters worse. Here was 
 an instance of his incorrigible want of tact ; much better to have 
 offered no application of the fable at all, and to have turned the 
 talk. He had told a simple truth, but with the result of appearing 
 to glorify himself, and possibly at his friend's expense. Vexed be- 
 yond measure, he crushed his heel into the soft ground. 
 
 " That is a very striking thought," said Mary Abbott, her look 
 still downcast. " I shall never forget it." 
 
 And she rose to move onward. They climbed in silence, the 
 flank of the mountain growing steeper. 
 
 " I should have brought you my old alpenstock," jested Harvey. 
 " Go slowly ; we have plenty of time." 
 
 " I like to exert myself. I feel so well, and it does me good ! " 
 
 He ventured to look at her again. All her confusion had passed 
 away ; she had the light of enjoyment in her eyes, and returned his 
 look with a frankness hitherto lacking. 
 
 " You must stay a second week. Alma won't let you go.'' 
 
 " Go, I must. The two children can't be left longer at Mrs. 
 Langland's^it would be presuming upon her kindness." 
 
 " I -want to talk about them, but one hasn't much breath here. 
 When we get to the top " 
 
 Last of all came a slippery scramble on broken stones, to where 
 a shapeless cairn rose above tree-tops, bare to the dazzling sky. 
 As they issued from the shelter of the wood, a breeze buffeted 
 about them, but only for a moment ; then the air grew still, and 
 nothing was audible but a soft whispering among the boughs below. 
 The larches circling this stony height could not grow to their full 
 stature ; beaten, riven, stunted, by fierce blasts from mountain or 
 from wave, their trunks were laden, and their branches thickly 
 matted, with lichen so long and hoary that it gave them an aspect 
 of age incalculable. Harvey always looked upon them with rever- 
 ence, if not with awe. 
 
 In the sunny stillness their eyes wandered far and wide, around 
 a vast horizon. On two sides lay the sea ; to the west, bounded 
 only where it met the blue sky above (though yonder line of cloud 
 might perchance be the hills of Wicklow) ; eastward, enfolded by 
 the shores of a great bay, with mountains on the far side, faintly 
 visible through silvery vapor. Northward rose a noble peak, dark. 
 
144 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 stern, beautiful in the swift fall of curving rampart to the waves 
 that broke at its foot ; loftier by the proximity of two summits, 
 sharp-soaring like itself, but unable to vie with it. Alone among 
 the nearer mountains, this crest was veiled ; smitten by sea-gusts, it 
 caught and held them, and churned them into sunny cloudlets, 
 which floated away in long fleecy rank, far athwart the clear depths 
 of sky. Further inland, where the haze of the warm morning hung 
 and wavered, loomed at moments some grander form, to be im- 
 agined rather than descried ; a glimpse of heights which, as the day 
 wore on, would slowly reveal themselves and bask in the broad 
 glow under crowning Snowdon. 
 
 " We have time ! We can stay here ! " said Mrs. Abbott, moved 
 with a profound delight. 
 
 " We have an hour at least. The sun is too hot ; you must sit 
 on the shadowed side of the cairn." 
 
 The great silence had nothing of that awesomeness which 
 broods in the mountain calm of wilder solitudes. Upon their ear 
 fell the long low hushing of the wood, broken suddenly from time 
 to time by a fitful wind, which flapped with hollow note around the 
 great heap of stones, whirled as if in sport, and was gone. Be- 
 low, in leafy hollows, sounded the cry of a jay, the laugh of a 
 woodpecker; from far heath and meadow trembled the bleat of 
 lambs. Nowhere could be discovered a human form ; but man's 
 dwellings, and the results of his labour, pointed the wide landscape 
 in every direction. On mountain sides, and across the undulating 
 lowland, wall or hedge mapped his conquests of nature, little plots 
 won by the toil of successive generations for pasture or for tillage, 
 won from the reluctant wilderness, which loves its fern and gorse, 
 its mosses and heather. Near and far were scattered the little 
 white cottages, each a gleaming speck, lonely, humble ; set by the 
 side of some long-winding, unfrequented road, or high on the 
 green upland, trackless save for the feet of those who dwelt there. 
 
 From talk of the scenery they passed, by no agreeable transi- 
 tion, to the subject which as yet they had not found an oppor- 
 tunity of discussing. It was necessary to arrive at some new 
 arrangement regarding Wager's children ; for the boy, Albert, 
 would soon be nine years old, and, as Mrs. Abbott confessed, he 
 had given her a great deal of trouble. Both the children were in- 
 tractable, hated lessons, and played alarming pranks ; Master 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 145 
 
 Albert's latest feat might have cost him his life, for he struck furi- 
 ously through a pane of glass at a child mocking him from the 
 other side, and was all but fainting from loss of blood when Mrs. 
 Abbott came to his help. Plainly this youngster must be sent to 
 a boarding-school. Minnie, his sister, would be more easily man- 
 aged after he had gone. 
 
 " He'll grow up a fighter," said Harvey. " We can't do without 
 fighters. I'll make inquiry at once about a school for him, and in 
 a year or two we'll take counsel with his teachers. Perhaps he 
 might go into the navy." 
 
 " The cost of it all," fell from his companion in a nervous under- 
 tone. 
 
 " We had that out long ago. Don't think about it." 
 
 " Of course, you will send only half the money when Albert 
 leaves me," said Mrs. Abbott earnestly. " I shall be in no diffi- 
 culty. I have had letters from several people, asking me to take 
 their little children to live with me. Albert's place will be filled at 
 once. I can't take more into the house ; there's no room. With 
 them, and my kindergarten, and the lessons I give in the evening, 
 I can live very well." 
 
 Harvey mused. Wishing to feel himself in complete sympathy 
 with his friend, he knew that something of the old criticism still 
 tempered his liking. Mary Abbott had fine qualities', but lacked 
 the simplicity, the directness, which would have made her courage 
 wholly admirable. He suspected that she continually mourned 
 over what seemed to her a waste of life. Proud of her " culture," 
 remembering her distinction as a teacher of grown-up girls, she 
 had undertaken as a penitence the care of little children, and per- 
 severed in it with obstinacy rather than with inspired purpose. 
 Mary Abbott, doubtless, had always regarded life as a conflict ; 
 she had always fought for her own hand. When such a nature 
 falls into genuine remorse, asceticism will inevitably follow ; with 
 it comes the danger of more or less conscious embitterment. 
 Harvey had a conviction of his friend's sincerity, and believed her 
 in every way a better woman than in the days before her great 
 sorrow ; but he could not yet assure himself that she had found 
 her true vocation. 
 
 They spoke of the people who were so anxious to be relieved 
 of their children. 
 
i.|.5 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " One lady wrote to me that she would pay almost anything if I 
 would take her little boy and keep him all the year round ; she has 
 only a small house, and the child utterly upsets her life. Of 
 course, I understand her ; I should have sympathised with her 
 once." 
 
 " It's .intelligible enough," replied Harvey, with a laugh. 
 " Presently there will be huge establishments for the young chil- 
 dren of middle-class people. Naturally, children are a nuisance ; 
 especially so if you live in a whirlpool." 
 
 " Yes, I know it too well, the whirlpool way of life," said Mrs. 
 Abbott, her eyes on the far mountains. " I know how easily one 
 is drawn into it. It isn't only idle people." 
 
 " Of course not. There's the whirlpool of the furiously busy. 
 Round and round they go ; brains humming till they melt or ex- 
 plode. Of course, they can't bother with children." 
 
 " One loses all sense of responsibility. ' 
 
 " Rather, they have never had it, and it has no chance of devel- 
 oping. You know, it isn't a matter of course for people to see 
 that they are under an enormous obligation to the children they 
 bring into the world ; except in a parent here and there, that 
 comes only with very favourable circumstances. 'When there's no 
 leisure, no meditation, no peace and quietness, — when, instead of 
 conversing, people just nod or shout to each other as they spin 
 round and round the gulf, — men and women practically return to 
 the state of savages in all that concerns their offspring. The 
 brats have come into existence, and must make the best of it. 
 Servants, governesses, schoolmasters — anybody but the parents — 
 may give thought to children. Well, it's a matter for the indi- 
 vidual. I shouldn't feel comfortable myself." 
 
 " It's a matter for the world, too," said Mary. 
 
 Harvey nodded. As he sat at the foot of the piled stones, his 
 hand touched a sprig of last year's heather ; the stem was hung 
 with dry, rustling, colourless bells, which had clung there all 
 through the cold, stormy months, telling of beauty that was past, 
 and of beauty that was to come. He broke it off, and showed it 
 to his companion. Until the time for moving, they talked of 
 simpler things, and Mary Abbott recovered her spirits. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 147 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ■ i 
 
 Turning regretfully from the place of rest, with its lulling^ 
 sounds and noble prospects, they began to descend the other side 
 of the mountain, which was more rugged than that by which they 
 had come up. Harvey timed the walk so well, that they reached 
 the point of the road where Alma would meet them, at a few 
 minutes before the time agreed upon. No one was in sight. 
 The road in its inland direction could be scanned for a quarter of 
 a mile ; the other way it curved rapidly, and was soon hidden by 
 gorse-bushes. 
 
 " I hear nothing," said Rolfe, when they had stood silent for a 
 little. " A mistake is impossible ; the man has driven to meet us 
 here before. Shall we walk on ? " 
 
 They proceeded slowly, stopping from time to time. Harvey 
 was puzzled by this unpunctuality, it would soon be a quarter to 
 two. He began to feel hungry, and his companion looked tired. 
 Of a sudden they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching be- 
 hind then. 
 
 " It can't be Alma. She wouldn't have gone further than " 
 
 But the horse appeared round the curve of the road, and behind 
 it- was a dog-cart, and in the dog-cart sat Alma, alone. At sight 
 of them she pulled up abruptly, so abruptly that the horse reared 
 a little. Harvey walked forward. 
 
 " You've been driving yourself ? " 
 
 " Of course. Why not ? " replied Alma in a strangely high 
 key. 
 
 " How have we missed you ? " 
 
 As he put this question he became aware of something very 
 unusual in his wife's appearance. Alma was pallid and shaking; 
 her small felt hat had got out of position, and her hair was dis- 
 ordered, giving her a wild, rakish aspect. He saw, too, that the 
 horse dripped with sweat ; that it glared, panted, trembled, and 
 could not for a moment stand still. 
 
 " What on earth have you been doing ? She's run away with 
 you ! " 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Alma, laughing, as she looked at Mrs. Abbott, 
 
148 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 who had just come up. " She was rather fresh, and I gave her a 
 good run, that's all. I'm sorry I missed you at the place " 
 
 " Why didn't Williams drive ? " asked Harvey in a voice turning 
 to anger. 
 
 "Williams? Why should Williams drive?" Alma returned, 
 her eyes flashing. " I'm only a few minutes late ; I don't see 
 anything to make a fuss about ! " 
 
 This temper was as strange in Alma as the personal appear- 
 ance she presented. Harvey said no more, but, after quickly 
 examining the horse, helped Mrs. Abbott to a seat at the back of 
 the vehicle ; he then jumped up to his wife's side, and without a 
 word took the reins from her hand. Alma made no remark as 
 she surrendered them. 
 
 " Put your hat straight," he said to her in a low voice. 
 
 " My hat ? What's the matter with it ? The wind, I suppose. 
 Did you enjoy it, Mrs. Abbott ? " 
 
 She turned, in speaking, so as to have her back towards Harvey, 
 and kept this position all the way, talking with her guest as if 
 nothing had happened. Rolfe, his face grimly set, uttered only a 
 word or two. He had to drive very slowly and with all caution, 
 for the animal shied every other minute, and he felt heartily glad 
 when they all alighted. Williams, who ran out from the stable, 
 stood in astonishment at sight of the horse's condition. 
 
 " Rather fresh this morning," said Harvey, as the ladies went 
 in. " Mrs. Rolfe had a little trouble with her." 
 
 This mild explanation by no means satisfied the coachman, 
 though he pretended to acquiesce. Seeing him give a look at the 
 horse's knees, Harvey did the same ; nothing was wrong there. 
 Williams pointed to marks on one of the wheels ; the cart had 
 evidently grazed against a wall. Alma must have lost control of the 
 horse, and have been carried a considerable distance before, some- 
 how, it was stopped. Without doubt, she had had a very narrow 
 escape. Her anger seemed to be the result of nerves upset and 
 mortified vanity ; she wished to show Mrs. Abbott that she could 
 drive — the explanation of the whole matter. Harvey was vexed 
 at such a piece of childishness ; irritated, too, by the outbreak of 
 temper with which Alma had replied to his very natural alarm. 
 Of course, he .would say nothing more ; it would be interesting to 
 await the outcome of his wife's mature reflection on her folly. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 149 
 
 As he stepped into the house, something hkei a cry for help 
 sounded from above stairs. He shouted, " What s that ? " and in 
 the same moment Mary Abbott called to him thai Mrs. Rolfe had 
 fainted. On rushing up, he found Mary with difficulty supporting 
 Alma's unconscious form, 
 
 " I saw she could hardly get upstairs," said Mrs. Abbott. 
 " Just here on the landing she gave a moan and fell back. I was 
 luckily close by her.'' 
 
 They carried her into her room, and gave what help they could 
 whilst the doctor was being summoned. In a few minutes Alma 
 regained consciousness, and declared herself quite well again ; 
 but when she tried to rise, strength failed lier ; she began to moan 
 in physical distress. Harvey went downstairs, whilst Mrs. Abbott 
 and Ruth tended the sufferer. 
 
 Their ordinary medical man was far away among the hills ; his 
 assistant had to be searched for, and came only after the lapse of 
 two hours, by which time Rolfe had woried himself into a fever. 
 Whilst Mrs. Abbott, faint with agitjtion and weariness, took a 
 hurried meal, he went to the bedside, and tried to learn whether 
 Alma was suffering merely from shock, or had sustained an actual 
 injury ; but she still nursed her grievance against him, and would 
 say very little. Why did not the doctor come ? She wished to 
 see the doctor ; no one else was of any use. 
 
 " Go down and have lunch with Mrs. Abbott properly. Do go, 
 please ; I hate all this fuss, and it's quite unnecessary. Let me be 
 alone till the doctor comes." 
 
 Before the arrival of Dr. Evans's assistant she again fainted, and 
 upon that followed an attack of hysteria. When at length the 
 medical man had seen her, Harvey received an adequate, but far 
 from reassuring, explanation of the state of things. At nightfall 
 Dr. Evans came in person, and was with the patient for a long 
 time. He spoke less gravely of the case, offered a lucid diagnosis, 
 and thought that the services of an ordinary nurse for a few days 
 would meet every necessity. Williams was sent with a hired ve- 
 hicle to the market town, seven miles away, and late at night re- 
 turned with the woman recommended. Alma meanwhile had 
 lain quietly, and the household at length went to rest without re- 
 newal of alarms. 
 Twice before dawn Harvey left his room and stepped silently to 
 
15° 
 
 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Alma's door. The first time, he heard low voices ; the second, 
 there was no sound. When, about eight o'clock, he went down 
 and out into the garden, he was surprised to meet Mrs. Abbott. 
 She had already seen the nurse this morning, and reported that 
 all was going well. Rolfe talked cheerfully again, and would not 
 listen to his guest's timid suggestion that she should take leave 
 to-day. Not a bit of it ; she was to go down to the seashore and 
 enjoy the sunshine, and worry herself just as little as possible. 
 At breakfast-time came a message from Alma to the same effect. 
 Mrs. Abbott was on no account to cut short her visit, and Harvey 
 was to do his duty as host. She herself, said Mrs. Rolfe, would be 
 as well as ever in a day or two. 
 
 For all that, when the appointed day for the guest's departure 
 came. Alma still lay blanched and feeble, not likely to leave her 
 bed for another week. She was, however, in a remarkably cheer- 
 ful frame of mind. Haying to start on her journey as early as 
 half-past eight, Mrs. Abbott bade good-bye to her hostess the 
 evening before, and nothing could have been kinder or more ami- 
 able than Alma's behaviour. 
 
 " Don't bear a grudge against me for spoiling your holiday," 
 she said, holding her guest's hand and smiling brightly. "If I 
 say all is for the best, perhaps you'll understand me, and perhaps 
 you won't ; it sounds pious at all events, doesn't it i We must 
 see each other again, you know — here or somewhere else. I'm 
 quite sure we can be friends. Of course, Harvey will go with you 
 in the morning." 
 
 Mrs. Abbott begged he would do nothing of the kind, but Alma 
 was imperative. 
 
 " Of course he will ! If it rains, a covered carriage will be here 
 in time. And write to me — mind you write to me , not only to 
 say you've got safe home, but in future. You promise ? " 
 
 In the morning it did rain, and heavily, so Harvey and his friend 
 drove to the station shut up together, with scarce a glimpse of any- 
 thing beyond the boulder walls and gorse hedges and dripping 
 larch-trees. They spoke a good deal of Alma. As soon as she 
 was well again, said Rolfe, he must take her for a thorough change. 
 In truth, he was beginning, he said, to doubt whether she could 
 live in this out-of-the-world place much longer. She liked it — oh 
 yes, she liked it — but he feared the solitude was telling upon her 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 151 
 
 nerves. Mrs. Abbott admitted that there might be something in 
 this. 
 
 " Should you return to London ? " she asked) 
 
 Whereupon Harvey stared before him, and loolced troubled, and 
 could only answer that he did not know. 
 
 When, two days after, the promised letter came from Mrs. 
 Abbott, Harvey took it up to the invalid's roim, and sat by her 
 whilst she read it. 
 
 " She writes so nicely," said Alma, who never in her life had 
 showed such sweetness of disposition as during this convalescence. 
 " Read it for yourself, Harvey. Isn't it a nice letter.' I feel so 
 sorry we haven't known each other before. But we're going to be 
 friends now." 
 
 " I'm sure I'm very glad." 
 
 " Nothing from mamma .' I almost think I could write to her 
 to-day. Of course, she'll fall into a dreadful state of mind, and 
 want to know why she wasn't sent for, and lament over — every- 
 thing. But it's no use her coming here now. When we go 
 away we must manage to see her." 
 
 " Yes. Have you thought where you would like to go ? " 
 
 " Not yet. There's plenty of time." 
 
 Not a word had passed between them with reference to the peril- 
 ous drive. Alma spoke as if her illness were merely natural, due 
 to nothing in particular , but her husband fancied that she wished to 
 atone, by sweet and affectionate behaviour, for that unwonted ill- 
 usage of him. He saw, too, beyond doubt, that the illness seemed 
 to her a blessing ; its result, which some women would have wept 
 over, brought joy mto her eyes. This, in so far as it was unnatural, 
 caused him some disturbance ; on the other hand, he was quite 
 unable to take a regretful view of what had happened, and why 
 should he charge upon Alma as a moral fault that which he easily 
 condoned in himself ? 
 
 A few days more and the convalescent was allowed to leave her 
 room. As if to welcome her, there arrived that morning a letter 
 from Melbourne, with news that Sibyl and her husband would 
 sail for England in a fortnight's time after the date writing, by the 
 Orient Line steamer Lusitania. 
 
 "You know what you suggested?" cried Alma delightedly, 
 " Shall we go ? " 
 
152 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " What — to Naples ? We should have to be off immediately. 
 If they come by the next ship after the one that brought this letter, 
 they are now only a fortnight from the end of the voyage. That 
 means — allowing for their nine days from Naples to London — 
 that we should hare to be at Naples in four or five days from 
 now." 
 
 " Well ? That's easily managed, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Not by any one in your state of health,'' replied Harvey gently. 
 
 " I am perfectly well ! I could travel night and day. Why 
 not ? One eats and sleeps as usual. Besides, are you quite sure .' 
 They may be longer than you think. Telegraph to the London 
 office and ask when the Lusitania will reach Naples." 
 
 " If you like. But, for one thing, it's quite certain you oughtn't 
 to travel in less than a week ; and then — what about Hughie } " 
 
 Alma's face darkened frith vexation. 
 
 " It doesn't matter," she said coldly. " I had counted on it ; 
 but, of course, that's nothing. There's the baby to be considered 
 first." 
 
 Harvey had never been so near the point of answering his wife 
 in rough, masculine fashion. This illness of hers had unsettled 
 his happy frame of mind, perturbing him with anxious thoughts, 
 and making confusion of the quiet, reasonable prospect that lay 
 before him only a week or two ago. He, too, could much have 
 enjoyed the run to Naples and the voyage back, and disappoint- 
 ment taxed his patience. Irritated against Alma, and ashamed of 
 himself for not being better tempered, he turned and left the 
 room. A few minutes afterwards 'ne walked to the post-office, 
 where he addressed a telegram of inquiry to the Orient Line peo- 
 ple in London. It was useless, of course ; but he might as well 
 satisfy Alma. 
 
 The reply telegram was delivered to him as he sauntered about 
 in the garden. It merely confirmed his calculation ; there might 
 possibly be a clear five days before the Lusitania touched at 
 Naples — most likely not more than four. He went into the sit- 
 ting-room, but Alma was not there ; he looked into the study, and 
 found it vacant. As Ruth happened to pass, he bade her take the 
 telegram to Mrs. Rolfe upstairs. 
 
 He had no mind for reading or for any other occupation. He 
 shut his door, and began to smoke. In the whiffs curling from 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 153 
 
 his pipe he imagined the smoke of the great steamer as she drove 
 northward from Indian seas ; he heard the throb of the engines, 
 saw the white wake. Naples ; the Mediterranean ; Gibraltar 
 frowning towards the purple mountains of Morocco ; the tum- 
 bling Bay ; the green shores of Devon ; — his pulses throbbed as he 
 went voyaging in memory. And he might start this very hour, 
 but for the child, who could not be left alone to servants. With 
 something like a laugh, he thought of the people who implored 
 Mary Abbott to relieve them*of their burdensome youngsters. 
 And at that moment Alma opened the door. 
 
 Her face, thinned a little by illness, had quite recovered its 
 amiable humour. 
 
 " Of course you are quite right, Harvey. We can't rush across 
 Europe at a moment's notice." 
 
 He rose up, the lover's light in his eyes again, and drew her to 
 him, and held her in a laughing embrace. 
 
 " What had been wrong between us ? It's a new thing for you 
 and me to be scowling and snarling." 
 
 " I hope I neither scowled nor snarled, dear boy, though I'm not 
 sure Ih&t jyou didn't. No doubt, Mrs. Abbott went away thinking 
 we lead rather a cat and dog life." 
 
 " Hang it, no ! How could she Wave any such thoughts ? " 
 
 " Oh, the drive home that day." 
 
 " Why, whose fault was that ? I should have been all right, 
 except that I couldn't understand why you had run the chance of 
 killing yourself." 
 
 " I don't think I should have cared very much that morning," 
 said Alma idly. " I was more miserable than you can imagine.'' 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know— foolishness. But you never gave me a 
 word of praise, and I'm sure I deserved it. Why, she galloped 
 with me like mad for nearly two miles, and I never lost hold of 
 the reins, and I pulled her up by myself and got her round, and 
 drove back to meet you as if nothing had happened. I told Mrs. 
 Abbott all about it, and she was astonished at my pluck." 
 
 " Must have been. So am I." 
 
 " I doubt it. I doubt whether you ever think much of anything 
 I do." 
 
 " That's rather unkind, because you know it isn't true." 
 
154 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " I always thought very much the same, you know." 
 
 " Rubbish ! But come, what are we going to do ? Naples 
 seems out of the question ; but there's no reason why we 
 shouldn't go to meet them in London." 
 
 " You would much rather wait here, and let them come," said 
 Alma. " I don't care particularly about going away. So long as 
 we keep on good terms with each other — that's the chief thing." 
 
 " There has never been a dream of anything else. We are on 
 good terms as a matter of course. It's part of the order of the 
 universe." 
 
 " I'm very sorry, dear, that I threatened the universe with ca- 
 tastrophe ; but I won't do it again — indeed I won't. I will watch 
 your face, and be on my guard. And really, you know, under or- 
 dinary circumstances, lam good-tempered enough." 
 
 " What's all this about ? " cried Harvey. For she seemed to be 
 in earnest, and spoke with a soft humility, such as might have be- 
 come the least original of wives. " Watch my face, and be on 
 your guard .' Since whtn have I desired you to be a simpleton ? " 
 
 " Lm quite serious. It isn't foolish at all. I want to please you ; 
 that's all I mean, dear." 
 
 He gazed at her, wondering, inclined to laugh, yet withheld 
 from it by an uneasy feeling. 
 
 " This kind of talk means defective circulation, lost appetite, 
 and so on," was his half-joking answer. " The way to please me 
 is to get some colour into your cheeks again, and snub me for my 
 ignorance of music, and be your own arrogant self. But listen. 
 You're quite mistaken in thinking I want to stay here till Hugh 
 and his wife come. It won't do. You're getting far too sweet 
 and docile, and everything detestable. I had no idea of marrying 
 an angel ; it's too bad if you turn seraphic upon my hands. I 
 wonder, now, whether, by way of pleasing me, you would answer 
 a plain question .' " 
 
 " I'll try." 
 
 " Have you been wanting to get away from this place — I mean, 
 to live somewhere else ? " 
 
 " I ! What can have made you think so ? " 
 
 " That isn't trying to answer a question, you know." 
 
 Alma, after looking keenly at him, had turned her face to the 
 window. She kept silence, and wore a look of calm reflectiveness. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 155 
 
 " Have you been bored and wearied by thfe life ? " Harvey 
 aslced in his most good-natured tone. 
 
 " I don't think I have ever for a moment shown a sign of it," 
 replied Alma, with grave conviction. 
 
 "So much the worse, if it meant that you concealed your 
 thoughts." 
 
 " I shall always be content, Harvey, so long as I see you are 
 living the kind of life that suits you. 
 
 He uttered a shout of humorous, yet half-genuine, exasperation. 
 
 " Do you want me to swear ? It's a long time since I lost the 
 habit, but it might strike you as manly, and perhaps I had better 
 practice again. What has it to do with you, the kind of life that 
 suits mef Don't you remember my talking about that before we 
 were married } I've had a suspicion that you were getting rather 
 into that state of mind. You dropped your music, and partly, I've 
 no doubt, because you didn't find enough intelligent sympathy in 
 me. You went in for painting, and you've dropped that " 
 
 " It was winter, you see," Alma mterrupted. 
 
 "Yes, but that wasn't the only reason. It meant general failure 
 of energy — the kind of thing I've known myself, only too well." 
 
 " What — here ? " asked Alma, with some alacrity. 
 
 " I meant now and again, all through my life. No ; here I've 
 gone on right enough, with a tolerably even mind . and for that 
 very reason I haven't noticed any signs of the other thing in you — 
 till just now, when you lost your head. Why haven't you been 
 frank with me ? " 
 
 " You take it for granted that I had anything to be frank about," 
 Alma remarked. 
 
 " Yes — and you don't contradict me. " 
 
 " Then what were you going to say, Harvey ? " 
 
 She bent towards him, with that air of sweet reasonableness 
 which showed her features at their best : eye tranquil and intelli- 
 gent, lips ingenuously smiling ; a countenance she wore not 
 thrice in a twelvemonth, but by Harvey well remembered amid all 
 changes, and held to express the true being of the woman he 
 loved. 
 
 " Why, I was going to say, dear," he replied tenderly, " that no 
 good can come of sacrificing your instincts. You have not to ask 
 yourself whether I am lazily comfortable — for that's what it 
 
156 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 amounts to — but what/oa are making of your life. Remember, 
 for one thing, that I am considerably older " 
 
 " Please ! " She checked him with an extended hand. " I 
 don't want to remember anything of the kind." 
 
 "There's no harm in it, I hope.'' He laughed a little. "The 
 difference isn't distressing, but just enough to be taken into ac- 
 count. At forty, or near it, a man who is happily married gets 
 used to his slippers and his pipe — especially if comfort, and all the 
 rest of it, have come after half a lifetime of homelessness. I 
 might often say to myself that I was wasting time, rusting, and so 
 on; but the next day I should fall back into the easy-chair again, 
 and hate the thought of changes. But you, with thirty still far 
 ahead, slippers and pipe have no particular attraction for you." 
 
 He saw a thought in her eyes, and paused. 
 
 " Hughie will soon be able to talk," fell from Alma, her look no 
 longer that of ingenuous sweetness, but of virtue just a trifle self- 
 conscious. And her husband, though he read this meaning in the 
 change, was yet pleased by the words that accompanied it. 
 
 " Yes ; and then there will be more for you to do, you were 
 going to say. But that won't occupy you entirely, and it doesn't 
 bind you to any particular spot." 
 
 " Perhaps not." 
 
 She had become almost demure. Harvey took his eyes away. 
 
 " It comes to this — you're not to subordinate your life to mine. 
 That's the old idea, and it still works well with some people. Yet 
 I don't know ; perhaps it doesn't, really ; one knows little enough 
 about people's lives. At all events, it won't work in our case, and 
 remember that we never thought it would. We talked it all over, 
 with no humbug on either side — rather an unusual sort of talk, 
 when one comes to think of it. I liked you for the common- 
 sense you showed, and I remember patting myself on the back for 
 a rational bit of behaviour at a time when 1 felt rather crazy." 
 
 Alma laughed in her gayest key. 
 
 " You were delicious. I didn't quite know what to make of 
 you. And perhaps that was the very reason " 
 
 " Reason for what ? " asked Harvey, when she broke off and 
 looked not quite so pale as a moment before. 
 
 " I forget what I was going to say. Please go on. It's very 
 interesting — as your talk always is." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 157 
 
 " I've said about all. You're not to be dutiful and common- 
 place ; that's the matter in a nutshell." 
 
 " I don't think you can accuse me of ever being common-place." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Harvey. 
 
 " And as for dutiful, our duty is to be consistent, don't you 
 think ? " 
 
 "Yes— if by consisjency you mean the steady resolve to make 
 the most of yourself. That's what you had in mind vifhen you 
 came here. As soon as you begin to grow limp, it's time to ask 
 what is the matter. I don't offer any advice ; you know yourself 
 better than I can know you. It's for you to tell me what goes on 
 in your mind. What's the use of our living together if you keep 
 your most serious thoughts to yourself > " 
 
 Harvey Rolfe glowed with a sense of his own generous wisdom. 
 He had never felt so keen a self-approval. Indeed, that emotion 
 seldom came to solace him ; for the most part he was the severest 
 critic of his own doings and sayings. But for once it appeared to 
 him that he uttered golden words, the ripe fruit of experience and 
 reflection. That personal unrest had anything to do with the 
 counsel he offered to his wife, he did not for the moment even 
 suspect. Alma had touched him with her unfamiliar note of sim- 
 ple womanhood, and all at once there was revealed to him a peril 
 of selfishness, from which he strongly recoiled. He seemed to be 
 much older, and Alma much more youthful, than he was wont to 
 perceive. Very gently and sweetly she had put him in mind of 
 this fact ; it behoved him to consider it well, and act upon the out- 
 come of such reflection. Heavens ! was he in danger of becom- 
 ing the typical husband — the man who, as he had put it, thinks 
 first of his pipe and slippers ? From the outside, no man would 
 more quickly or more contemptuously have noted the common- 
 sense moral of this present situation. Being immediately con- 
 cerned, he could see nothing in his attitude but a wise and noble 
 disinterestedness. And thus, at a moment when he wittingly held 
 the future in his hands, he prided himself on leaving to Alma an 
 entire responsibility — making her, in the ordinary phrase, mistress 
 of her own fate, and waiting upon her decisions. 
 
 " I will think a little longer," said Alma, sighing contentedly, 
 " and then we'll talk about it again. It's quite true I was getting a 
 little run down, and perhaps — but we'll talk about it in a day or two." 
 
158 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Could we decide anything for the present ? Would you care 
 to go and meet the steamer at Plymouth ? " 
 
 " And take Hughie ? Suppose I wrote very nicely to mamma, 
 and asked if we might leave Hughie with her, in Hampshire, for 
 a few days ? I dare say she would be delighted, and the other 
 people too. The nurse could be with him, I dare say. We could 
 call there on our way. And Ruth would look after the house 
 very well." 
 
 " Write and ask." 
 
 " Then you and I " — Alma began to talk joyously — " might 
 ramble about Devonshire till the ship comes. Let me see — if we 
 travelled on Monday, that would give us several days, wouldn't it ? 
 And the Carnabys might either land at Plymouth, or we go on 
 with them in the ship to London. That's a very good plan. But 
 why lose time by writing ? Send a telegram to mamma — ' Could 
 we leave Hughie and nurse with you for a day or two } ' " 
 
 Harvey again turned his steps to the post-office, and this mes- 
 sage was despatched. A few hours elapsed before the reply came, 
 but it was favourable. 
 
 " Then we'll leave on Monday ! " exclaimed Alma, whose con- 
 valescence was visibly proceeding. " Just send another telegram 
 — a word or two, that they may be ready." 
 
 " Might as well have mentioned the day in the other," said Har- 
 vey, though glad to have something more to do. 
 
 " Of course ; how thoughtless ! " . 
 
 And they laughed, and were in the best of tempers. 
 
 On the morrow, Sunday, they walked together as they had used 
 to do in the first spring after their marriage ; along the grassy 
 cliffs, then down to the nook where the sand is full of tiny shells, 
 and round the little headland into the next bay, where the quaint 
 old fishing-village stands upon the edge of the tide. And Alma 
 was again in love, and held her husband's hand, and said the 
 sweetest things in the most wonderful voice. She over-tired 
 herself a little, so that, when they ascended the cliff again, Harvey 
 had to support her ; and in the sunny solitude she thanked him 
 with her lips — in two ways. 
 
 It was a second honeymoon. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 159 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham's sister, who lived near Basingstoke, gave 
 a warm welcome to little Hugh Rolfe ; and Mrs. Frothingham, 
 who had all but forgotten that the child was not really her grand- 
 son, took charge of him with pride and joy. He stayed a week ; 
 he stayed a fortnight ;^he stayed two months. 
 
 For when the Carnabys — who landed in Plymouth and rested 
 there for a couple of days — made known their intention of straight- 
 way taking a flat in town, it seemed to Alma that the very best 
 thing for her health would be to spend a week or two in London, 
 and see her old friends, and go to a few concerts. The time was 
 favourable, for June had only just set in. Harvey, nothing loath, 
 took his wife to a quiet hotel in the Portman Square region, whither 
 also went their friends from abroad; his project being to look 
 for furnished rooms, where child and nurse could join them. 
 But Mrs. Frothingham thought it a pity of pities to take little 
 Hugh into the town, when all was so pleasantly arranged for 
 him down in Hampshire ; and, as Alma evidently inclined to the 
 same view, the uninviting thought of " apartments " was laid aside. 
 They might as well remain at the hotel, said Harvey. Alma, 
 with a pretty show of economical hesitation, approved the plan, 
 saying that she \lvould be quite ready to go home again when Sibyl 
 had established herself in a flat. This event came to pass in 
 about three weeks ; the Carnabys found a flat which suited them 
 very well at Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, and thither, with 
 the least possible delay, transferred a portion of their furniture, 
 which had lain in warehouse. Thereupon, sweetly reasonable, 
 Mrs. Rolfe made known that it was time to fetch her baby and 
 return to Carnarvonshire. She felt incalculably better ; the change 
 had been most refreshing ; now for renewed enjoyment of her 
 dear home ! 
 
 But Harvey wore his wisest countenance ; no owl could have 
 surpassed it for sage gravity. 
 
 " You are very much better, and don't you think you would be 
 better still after another week or two ? The concerts are in full 
 swing ; it seems a pity — now you are here " 
 
i6o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Alma looked gracefully reluctant. Were not the hotel ex- 
 penses rather heavy ? 
 
 " Pooh ! You must remember that at home we live on half our 
 income, or less. If that's all that troubles you " 
 
 " You are very kind, Harvey ! 
 
 " Why, as for that, I'm enjoying myself. And I like to see you 
 in such capital spirits." 
 
 So, with a happy sigh, Alma gave up the packing of her trunk, 
 and wrote to Mrs. Frothingham that if baby really was not a 
 trouble, they might stay for another fortnight. " Harvey is in 
 such capital spirits, and does so enjoy himself, that I don't think 
 he ought to go home whilst all the life of the season is in full swing. 
 Of course, I could leave him here, but — if you will credit it — he 
 seems really to wish to have me with him. If I tried to say how 
 thoroughly good and kind he is, I should make you laugh. It 
 amuses me to see him turned into a sort of bachelor again. This is 
 no contradiction ; I mean that here, among his men friends, he 
 shows a new side of himself, seems younger (to tell the truth), and 
 has a kind of gaiety quite different from his good-humour at home. 
 You can't think how he enjoys a dinner at the club, for instance, 
 quite in a boyish way ; and then he comes back with all sorts of 
 stories and bits of character and I don't know what , we forget 
 the time, and sit talking till — I daren't tell you when. But I am 
 doing the same thing now, for it is half-past twelve (noon), and I 
 have promised to lunch with Sibyl at half-past one. Her flat is 
 just finished, and looks very pretty indeed. A thousand kisses to 
 my little darling ! Try and make him understand that tnummum 
 has not gone for ever." 
 
 She dressed with care (her wardrobe had undergone a com- 
 plete renewal), and drove off in a hansom to Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge Mansions. It was to be a luncheon of intimacy, for Sibyl 
 had not yet gathered her acquaintances. When Alma entered, 
 Mrs. Carnaby was sitting just as in the days before her great 
 migration, perfectly at ease, admirably self-possessed, her beauty 
 arrayed with all the chastity of effect which distinguished her 
 among idle and pleasure-loving women. She had found a new 
 way of doing her hair, a manner so young, so virginal, that Alma 
 could not but gaze with wonder and admiration. 
 
 " You do look sweet to-day ! " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL i6i 
 
 " Do I ? I'm glad you think so.— I want your opinion. Would 
 you have the piano there, or there f " 
 
 This matter was discussed, and then they obeyed the tuneful 
 gong that summoned them to the dining-room. Alma surveyed 
 everything, and felt a secret envy. Here was no demonstration of 
 the simple life ; things beautiful and luxurious filled all available 
 space, and indeed over-filled it, for Sibyl had tried to use as much 
 as possible of the furniture formerly displayed in Hamilton Ter- 
 race, with such alterations and novelties as were imposed by the 
 fashion of to-day. She offered her guest a most dainty little 
 meal ; a luncheon such as Alma could not possibly have devised, 
 in spite of all her reminiscences. 
 
 " Civilisation is a great thing," Sibyl remarked. " It's good to 
 have been in savagery, just to appreciate one's privileges." 
 
 " But you liked Honolulu .' " 
 
 " Honolulu— yes. I was thinking of Queensland. There's no 
 barbarism at Honolulu, if you keep out of sight of the Americans 
 and Europeans. Yes, I enjoyed myself there. I think I could go 
 back and live out my life at Waikiki." 
 
 " It astonished me that you didn't make an effort to go with 
 Hugh to that great volcano. I have read about it since, and I'm 
 sure I should have faced anything." 
 
 " Kilauea," murmured Sibyl, with a dreamy air, as she raised 
 the wine-glass to her lips. " I was lazy, no doubt. The climate, 
 you know ; and then I don't care much about bubbling lava. It 
 was much nicer to watch the gold-fish at Waikiki. — Where is your 
 husband to-day ? " 
 
 " Of all things in the world, gone to Lord's ! He says he never 
 saw a cricket match in his life, and it struck him this morning that 
 it really was a defect in his education. Of course, he was thinking 
 of Hughie. He wants Hughie to be a cricketer and horseman and 
 everything that's robust." 
 
 "Just like Hugh," replied Sibyl, laughing. " I should feel the 
 same if I had a boy. I like open-air men — though I shouldn't 
 care always to live among them." 
 
 "Hugh at Coventry still ? " Alma inquired. 
 
 Her hostess gave a nod, with a look intimating that she would 
 say more when the servant left them free to talk.~ She added — 
 
 " Do you know Mrs. Strangeways ? " 
 
1 62 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " I seem to remember a Mr. Strangeways," replied Alma, " but 
 I can't think how or where." 
 
 " Yes, he's a man who goes about a good deal. His wife was 
 the widow of that artist who promised so well, and got into a 
 scrape, and died miserably — Edward — no, Egbert Dover. Don't 
 you know that big landscape that hangs in Mrs. Holt's boudoir ? 
 — that was one of his. He hid himself away, and died in a garret 
 or a workhouse — something cheerful. I met Mrs. Strangeways at 
 Brisbane ; she and her husband were globe-trotting. She might 
 look in this afternoon. I don't know whether you would care for 
 her ; she's rather — rapid, you know. But she remembers hearing 
 you play somewhere — spoke of you with great admiration. " 
 
 Alma's eyes shone. 
 
 "Oh, I should be glad to meet her. Are you going to let me 
 stay with you all the afternoon, then ? " 
 
 " If you have nothing better to do. I suppose I shall be losing 
 you presently. I'm very sorry. I wish you lived in London." 
 
 " On this one account," replied Alma, " I wish I did. But I've 
 got so out of it. Don't you think I carry a rustic atmosphere 
 about with me ? " 
 
 Sibyl laughed, in the tone her friend wished to hear. Alma 
 would have been profoundly mortified if Mrs. Carnaby had seemed 
 ever so little to agree with her. 
 
 For all that, they were not quite so well attuned to each other as 
 when the young married woman, indifferent seemingly to social 
 distinction, patronised the ambitious girl, and, by the mere be- 
 stowal of confidence, subtly flattered her. In those days Alma 
 did not feel it as patronage, for Sibyl's social position was perhaps 
 superior to her own, and in things of the intellect (apart from 
 artistic endowment) she sincerely looked up to her friend. To- 
 gether they trod ground above the heads of ordinary women in 
 their world. But changes had been at work. Alma now felt her- 
 self, to say the least, on equal terms with Mrs. Carnaby. Eco- 
 nomically, she was secure ; whereas Sibyl, notwithstanding the 
 show she made, drew daily nearer to a grave crisis and might be- 
 fore long find herself in a very unpleasant situation. Intellectu- 
 ally, Alma saw herself in a less modest light than before marriage ; 
 the daily companionship of such a man as her husband had been 
 to her as a second education ; she had quite overtaken Sibyl, if 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 163 
 
 not gone a little beyond her. The deference she still showed was 
 no longer genuine, and this kind of affectation, hard to support 
 and readily perceived, is very perilous to friendship. Conscious of 
 thoughts she must not utter, Alma naturally attributed to her 
 friend the same sort of reticence. She feared that Sibyl must 
 often have in mind the loss she had suffered three years ago, and 
 would contrast her own precarious circumstances with the comfort 
 of Ben net Frothingham's daughter. Moreover, Mrs. Carnaby was 
 not in all respects her own self j she had lost something on her 
 travels ; was it a shade of personal delicacy, of mental refinement ? 
 She seemed more inclined to self-assertion, to aim somewhat at 
 worldly success, to be less careful about the friends she made. 
 Alma felt this difference, though not clear as to its nature, and in- 
 sensibly it helped to draw them apart. 
 
 " Yes, Hugh is at Coventry," said Sibyl, when the servant had 
 withdrawn. " He'll go backwards and forwards, you know. I 
 don't think he'll have very much to do practically with the busi- 
 ness ; but just at first he likes to see what's going on." 
 
 " I hope it will prosper." 
 
 " Oh, no doubt it will. It was a very good idea." 
 
 Sibyl spoke as though she had never contemplated the possibili- 
 ties which were in Alma's mind. Her husband, as Alma knew 
 from Rolfe, was in anything but a- sanguine mood ; he saw his 
 position in all its gravity, and could hardly rest for fear that this 
 latest enterprise should not succeed. Sibyl, however, enjoyed her 
 lunch with complete tranquillity. She had the air of being 
 responsible for nothing. 
 
 " I'm not at all sorry we went away for a time. Travelling suits 
 Hugh ; it has done him a great deal of good. I believe he would 
 have liked to stay in Tasmania ; but he saw it wouldn't do for me, 
 and the good fellow could think of nothing else but my comfort. 
 I have a great admiration for Hugh." she added, with a smile, not 
 exactly of superiority or condescension, but of approval distinct 
 from tenderness. " Of course, 1 always had, and it has increased 
 since I've travelled with him. He shows to far more advantage on 
 a ship than in a drawing-room. On this last voyage we had some 
 very bad weather, and then he was at his best. I admired him 
 immensely ! " 
 
 " I can quite imagine how he would be," said Alma. 
 
i64 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " And how glad I was when I heard you had married his best 
 friend ! It had crossed my mind more than once. Perhaps you 
 don't remember — you didn't notice it at the time — but I ventured 
 a discreet hint before we parted. You couldn't have done a more 
 sensible thing, Alma." 
 
 Though quite willing to believe this, Alma, for some reason, did 
 not care to hear it thus asserted. The manner of the remarli, for 
 all its friendliness, reminded her that marriage had signified her 
 defeat, the end of high promises, brave aspirations. 
 
 " I couldn't tell you how it ha'ppened," she said, with a little 
 awkwardness. " And I dare say you would say the same about 
 your own marriage." 
 
 " Of course. So would every woman. One never does know 
 how it happens." 
 
 And Sibyl laughed with quiet merriment which had a touch of 
 cynicism. Alma had not yet spoken of the impulse which carried 
 her away to the little house in Carnarvonshire, to the life of noble 
 simplicity and calm retirement, and she had no disposition now 
 to touch on the matter. Even in her early letters to Sibyl not 
 much was said of it, for she felt that her friend might have a diffi- 
 culty in sympathising with such enthusiasm. She would have 
 liked to make Sibyl understand that her rustication was quite vol- 
 untary ; but the subject embarrassed her, and she preferred to 
 keep silence. 
 
 " I didn't hear very much about your time in Germany," Mrs. 
 Carnaby resumed. " Nothing much to tell, I suppose.'' 
 
 " Very little." 
 
 " Any — any adventures ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! " 
 
 Alma felt herself grow warm, less at the thought of the adven- 
 tures which really had befallen her than from vexation at the feel- 
 ing of insignificance. She understood very well what Sibyl meant 
 by her smiling question, and it would almost have been a relief to 
 tell certain stories, in proof that she had not utterly fallen out of 
 sight and mind on her self-banisbment from society. There was 
 no reason, indeed, why she should not make fun of Felix Dymes 
 and his proposal ; but the episode seemed idle in comparison with 
 another, on which she had never ceased to reflect. Perhaps a cer- 
 tain glory attached to that second incident ; Sibyl might be im- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 165 
 
 pressed alike with tlie character of the temptation and with her 
 friend's nobility in scorning it. But the opportunity had gone by. 
 
 On rising from table, Sibyl remarked that she wished to make 
 one or two purchases ; would Alma accompany her to the shop ? 
 They went forth, and drove as far as Regent Street. Mrs. Car- 
 naby's requirements were one or two expensive trifles, which she 
 chose with leisurely gratification of her taste. It surprised Alma 
 to see this extravagance ; one would have thought the purchaser 
 had never known restricted means, and dreamt of no such thing ; 
 she bought what she happened to desire, as a matter of course. 
 And this was no ostentation for Alma's benefit. Evidently Sibyl 
 had indulged herself with the same freedom throughout her tra- 
 vels : for she had brought back a museum of beautiful and curious 
 things, which must have cost a good deal. Perhaps for the first 
 time in her life Alma experienced a sense of indignation at the 
 waste of money. She was envious withal, which possibly helped 
 to explain the other impulse. 
 
 They returned in an hour's time. Sibyl then withdrew for a few 
 minutes, and reappeared in an exquisite tea-gown, which made 
 her friend's frock, though new and handsome, look something less 
 than suitable to the occasion. Alma, glancing about the room, 
 spoke as if in pursuance of a train of thought. 
 
 " People do make a lot of money out of bicycles, I think ? " 
 
 " I have heard so," answered her hostess indifferently. "Will 
 you play me something ? The piano has been tuned ; I should 
 like to know if you think it all right." 
 
 " I have quite given up playing the piano." 
 
 " Indeed ? And the violin too ? " 
 
 " No, no ; the violin is my instrument. Whose is that little 
 water-colour, Sibyl ? I tried for just that effect of sun through 
 mist not long ago." 
 
 " Oh yes, to be sure, you have gone in for water-colours ; you 
 told me in a letter. I must see some of your things. Of course, 
 I shall be coming " 
 
 The door opened, and a small page, very smartly equipped, an- 
 nounced Mrs. Herbert Strangeways. The page was a surprise to 
 Alma; she had not as yet seen this functionary ; but Mrs. Strange- 
 ways drew her attention. A lady of perhaps thirty-five, with keen, 
 thin face, and an artificial bloom on her hollow cheeks ; rather 
 
i66 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 over-dressed, yet not to the point of vulgarity ; of figure very well 
 proportioned, slim and lissom. Her voice was a trifle hard, but 
 pleasant ; her manner cordial in excess. 
 
 " So here you are, chez vous. Charming ! Charming ! The 
 prettiest room I have seen for a long time. Mrs. Rolfe ? Oh, 
 Mrs. Rolfe, the name put me out for a moment ; but I remember 
 you perfectly, perfectly. It was at the Wigrams' ; you played the 
 violin wonderfully ! " 
 
 Alma did not much care to be reminded of this. Mr. Wigram, 
 one of her father's co-directors, was lying at this moment in du- 
 rance vile, and his wife lived somewhere or other on charity. But 
 Mrs. Strangeways uttered the name without misgiving, and be- 
 haved as though nothing conceivable could have afforded her more 
 delight than to meet Alma again. It was her liabit to speak in 
 superlatives, and to wear a countenance of corresponding ecstasy. 
 Any casual remark from either of the ladies she received with a 
 sort of rapture ; her nerves seemed to be in a perpetual thrill. If 
 she referred to herself, it was always with depreciation, and not at 
 all the kind of depreciation which invites compliment, but a tremu- 
 lous self-belittlement, such as might be natural in a person who 
 had done something to be ashamed of, and held her place in society 
 only on sufferance. 
 
 " You still play, of course ? " she said to Mrs. Rolfe presently. 
 " I so hope I may have the pleasure of hearing you again. I 
 wonder whether I could persuade you to come next Wednesday? 
 We have a little house in Porchester Terrace. Of course, I don't 
 mean to ask you to play ; I shouldn't venture to. Just a few 
 friends in the evening — if you didn't think it tiresome ? I'll send 
 you a card." 
 
 There entered a tall young man of consumptive features, ac- 
 companied by a stout, florid woman, older than himself; and 
 upon this couple followed half a dozen miscellaneous callers, some 
 of whom Alma knew. These old acquaintances met her with a 
 curiosity they hardly troubled to disguise ; she herself was reserved, 
 and took no part in the general chatter. Mrs. Strangeways with- 
 drew into a corner, as if wishing to escape observation. When 
 Mrs. Rolfe took a chair by her side, she beamed with gratitude, 
 and their gossip grew quite intimate. Alma could not understand 
 why Sibyl had stigmatised this woman as " rapid " — that is to say, 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 167 
 
 " fast " ; she gabbled, indeed, at a great rate, but revealed no 
 startling habits of life or thought, and seemed to have rather an 
 inclination for childish forms of amusement. Before they parted, 
 Alma gave a promise that she would go to Mrs. Strangeways' " at 
 home " next Wednesday. 
 
 " And your husband, if he would care to come. I should be so 
 delighted to know him. But perhaps he doesn't care about that 
 kind of thing. I hate to bore any one — don't you ? But then, of 
 course, you're never in danger of doing it. So very, very glad to 
 have met you ! And so exceedingly kind of you to promise ! — so 
 very kind ! " 
 
 As Sibyl also was going to Porchester Terrace, they arranged to 
 chaperon each other, and to start from Mrs. Rolfe's hotel. 
 
 " It's no use making Harvey uncomfortable," said Alma. "He 
 would go if I asked him, but sorely against the grain. He always 
 detested ' at homes ' — except when he came to admire me ! And 
 he likes to see me going about independently." 
 
 " Does he ? " said Sibyl, with an inquiring look. 
 
 " Yes — seriously. We do our best not to encumber each other. 
 Don't you think it's the best way ? " 
 
 " No doubt whatever." 
 
 Mrs. Carnaby smiled, and the smile grew to a laugh ; but she 
 would not explain what she meant by it. 
 
 On the Wednesday evening, they reached Mrs. Strangeways" 
 house at ten o'clock. Carriages and cabs made a queue up to the 
 door, and figures succeeded each other rapidly on the red cloth 
 laid down across the pavement. _Alma was nervous. More than 
 three years had passed since the fatal evening when, all uncon- 
 sciously, she said good-bye to social splendours ; from then till 
 now she had taken part in no festivity. The fact that her name 
 was no longer Frothingham gave her some encouragement ; but 
 she must expect to be recognised, perhaps to be stared at. Well, 
 and would it be so very disagreeable? An hour before, the mir- 
 ror had persuaded her that she need not shrink from people's 
 eyes ; her dress defied criticism, and she had not tS learn how to 
 bear herself with dignity. Sibyl was unusually lavish of compli- 
 ments, and in a matter such as this Sibyl's judgment had weight. 
 As soon as she found herself on the stairs, amid perfumes and 
 brilliances, she breathed freely ; it was the old familiar atmos^ 
 
i68 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 phere ; her heart leapt with a sudden joy, as in a paradise re- 
 gained. 
 
 Already the guests were very numerous, and they continued to 
 arrive. The drawing-rooms filled ; a crowd of men smoked in the 
 " library " and the billiard-room ; women swarmed in passages 
 and staircase. After welcoming Mrs. Rolfe with the ardour of a 
 bosom friend and the prostration of a devotee, the hostess turned 
 to the next comer with scarcely less fervency. And Alma passed 
 on, content for the present to be lost amid thronging strangers. 
 
 "Who are all these people ?" she asked- of Sibyl, who had 
 moved along by her side. 
 
 " Nobodies, most of them, I should imagine. There's no need 
 to stay very long, you know. That's Mr. Strangeways, the little 
 man with a red face talking to that mountain of a woman in green.' 
 Mercy, what a dress ! He's coming this way ; I'll introduce him 
 to you." 
 
 The host had a jovial carriage and a bluff way of speaking, both 
 obviously affected. His eyes wandered as he talked, and never 
 met any one else's with a steady look. Alma thought him offen- 
 sively familiar, but he did not inflict himself upon her for long. 
 
 When the hostess began to go hither and thither, she pounced 
 eagerly on Mrs. Rolfe, and soon made her the centre of a group. 
 Alma began to taste the old delight of homage, though she per- 
 ceived that her new acquaintances were not of the world in which 
 she had formerly shone. About midnight, when she was a little 
 tired of the crush, and thought of going, there fell upon her ear a 
 voice which startled and aroused her like an unexpected grasp. 
 On the instant she saw an open place in Munich ; the next, a lake 
 and mountains. 
 
 " I wasn't in town then. I got out of sorts, and ran away to a 
 little place I have on the Lake of Garda." 
 
 The speaker was immediately behind her. She all but turned 
 her head, and grew hot in the effort to command herself. Amid 
 the emotions naturally excited in her, .she was impressed by a 
 quality in the voice, a refinement of utterance, which at once dis- 
 tinguished it from that of the men with whom she had been talk- 
 ing. It belonged to a higher social grade, if it did not express a 
 superiority of nature. For some moments she hstened, catching 
 now and then a word ; then other voices intervened. At length, 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 169, 
 
 turning where she stood, she let her eyes range, expressionless, 
 over the faces near by. That which she sought was not discov- 
 erable, but at the same moment the hostess came up to her. 
 
 " Mrs. Rolfe, do you know Mr. Cyrus Redgrave ? " 
 
 " Mr. Redgrave ? " 
 
 The confused, hesitating repetition of the name was taken by 
 Mrs. Strangeways for a reply in the negative. 
 
 " A charming man, and a great friend of mine — oh, a very old 
 friend. Let me bring him." 
 
 She rustled away, and Mrs. Rolfe sank back on to the causeuse 
 from which she had newly risen. Quickly the hostess returned, 
 and, in the track she made through crowded clusters of people 
 who stood talking, there followed a gentleman of easy carriage, 
 with handsome features and thin hair. He was looking for Alma, 
 and as soon as his eyes perceived her, they fell. Of what Mrs. 
 Strangeways said, Alma heard not a syllable ; she bowed mechan- 
 ically, clutching her fan as though in peril of a fall and this the 
 only thing within reach ; she knew that Reclgrave bent solemnly, 
 silently ; and then,._with sudden relief, she saw the hostess retire. 
 
 "I beg your pardon." The voice was addressing her in a re- 
 spectful undertone. " I had no choice. I did not feel justified in 
 saying I knew you." 
 
 " You were quite right," she replied coldly, her fingers now re- 
 laxed upon the fan. " Mrs. Strangeways is a little impulsive ; she 
 gave me no opportunity of preventing the introduction." 
 
 " Will you let me say, Mrs. Rolfe, that I am glad to have been 
 presented to you as a stranger ? I should be happy indeed if our 
 acquaintance might begin anew." 
 
 It was polite in terms, but sounded to Alma very like the cool- 
 est impertinence. She bent her head, ever so little. The second 
 seat of the causevse being unoccupied, Redgrave hereupon took 
 possession of it. No sooner had he done so than Alma rose, let a 
 smile of indifference just fall upon him, and lost herself amid the 
 buzzing assembly. 
 
 Ten minutes later, Redgrave and Mrs. Carnaby were lounging 
 in these same seats, conversing with perfect mutual intelligence. 
 They had not met for three years, but the interval signified very 
 little in their lives, and they resumed conversation practically at 
 the point where it had broken off in Mrs. Frothingham's drawing- 
 
I70 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 room. A tactful question assured the man of the world that Mrs. 
 Carnaby knew nothing of certain passages at Munich and Bregenz. 
 
 "I'm afraid," he added, "Mrs. Rolfe has become a little re- 
 served. Natural, no doubt." 
 
 "She lives in a wild part of Wales," Sibyl answered, smiling 
 tolerantly. " And her husband detests society." 
 
 " Indeed ? Odd choice for her to have made, don't you think ? 
 — And so your Odyssey is over ? We shall have some chance of 
 seeing you again." 
 
 " But your own Odyssey is perpetually going on. Are you ever 
 in town except for a few weeks of the season ? " 
 
 " Oh, I go about very little now ; I'm settling down. — You 
 never met my sister, I think ? She has a house at Wimbledon 
 with a good-sized garden — sort of little park, in fact, — and I have 
 persuaded her to let me build myself a bungalow among the trees." 
 
 " Splendid idea ! " 
 
 " Not bad, I think. One is free there ; a member of the family 
 whenever one likes ; domesticated ; all that's respectable ; and 
 only a few steps away, the bachelor snuggery, with all that's — . 
 No, no ! I was not going to complete the antithesis, though by 
 your smiling you seem to say so. " 
 
 " The suggestion was irresistible,'' said Sibyl, with the compo- 
 sure, the air of security, which always covered her excursions on to 
 slippery ground. 
 
 " When the weather is good, I ask a few of my friends to come 
 and sit there in the shade. They may or may not be my sister's 
 friends also ; that doesn't matter. I have a separate entrance from 
 the road. — But I wish you knew Mrs. Fenimore. She lived a year 
 or two at Stuttgart, for her children to learn German. Her hus- 
 band's in India. She tried it, but couldn't stand the climate." 
 
 " And you really live in the bungalow ? " inquired Mrs. Carnaby, 
 disregarding this information about Redgrave's sister. 
 
 "Yes, it's my headquarters in England. Let me send you a 
 card, will you, when I have my next afternoon ? It might amuse 
 you, and I assure you it is perfectly respectable." 
 
 " How could I doubt it, if you invite me ? " 
 
 Alma drove home by herself in a hansom. She liked this dis- 
 regard of conventionalities ; all the more because Harvey, who, of 
 course, had sat up for her, seemed a trifle anxious. Her spirits 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 171 
 
 were exuberant ; she gave a merry, mocking account of the even- 
 ing, but it included no mention of Cyrus Redgrave. 
 
 At the end of June her friends the Leaches moved from their old 
 house in Elgin Road to a new one out at Kingsbury-Neasden, and 
 when the removal was completed. Alma went there to make a call, 
 taking her husband. Harvey had never been beyond Swiss Cot- 
 tage on this extension of the metropolitan railway ; he looked with 
 interest at the new districts springing up towards Harrow, and 
 talked of them with Mrs. Leach. A day or two after, he travelled 
 by himself to a greater distance on the same line, making a survey 
 of the country from Harrow to Aylesbury. At his next meeting 
 with Hugh Carnaby, which took place about the middle of July, he 
 threw out a suggestion that for any one who wished to live prac- 
 tically in London and yet away from its frenzy, the uplands towards 
 Buckinghamshire were convenient ground. 
 
 " I wish you were thinking of it yourself," replied Hugh. " Your 
 wife is about the only woman Sibyl cares to see much of, and the 
 only woman I know that she'll get any good from." 
 
 The strong man did not look very cheerfully on the world just 
 now, and it was evident that he felt some sort of trouble with re- 
 gard to his wife. For her sake solely he had returned to England, 
 where he was less than ever at his ease. He wished Sibyl to live 
 in her own way, grudged her nothing, admired and cherished her 
 with undiminished fervour ; but in Oxford and Cambridge Mansions 
 it cost him a great effort to pretend to be at home. The years of 
 wandering had put him hopelessly out of touch with what Sibyl 
 called society. Little as he understood about manufactures, or 
 cared for the details of commerce, he preferred to stay down at 
 Coventry with his partner Mackintosh, living roughly, smoking his 
 pipe and drinking his whisky in the company of men who had at 
 least a savour of sturdy manhood. His days of sport were gone 
 by ; he was risking the solid remnant of his capital ; and if it van- 
 ished But of that possibility he would not speak, even with 
 
 Harvey Rolfe. As he meditated, his teeth were set, his eyes 
 darkened. And it appeared to Harvey that the good fellow drank 
 a little more whisky than was needful, even in these warm days. 
 
 " I want to see the little chap, my namesake," he said. " Why 
 don't you have hirti up here ? Doesn't your wife feel she wants 
 him > " 
 
172 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Alma will think more of hira in a year or two," Harvey re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Yes. I've noticed that women — one sort of women — don't 
 care much about babies nowadays. I dare say they're right. The 
 fewer children people have, the better. It's bad to see the poor 
 little squalling brats in the filth and smoke down yonder, and worse 
 still in this damned London. Great God ! when there's so much 
 of the world clean and sweet, here we pack and swelter together, 
 a million to the square mile ! What eternal fools we are ! " 
 
 Harvey growled his heartiest agreement. None the less, a day 
 or two after, he was holding a conversation with Alma which en- 
 couraged her secret weariness of the clean and sweet places of the 
 earth. They had come home from a Richter concert, and Alma 
 uttered a regret that she had not her violin here. A certain cadenza 
 introduced by a certain player into a certain violin solo did not 
 please her ; why, she could extemporise a cadenza lax more in keep- 
 ing with the spirit of the piece. After listening, with small atten- 
 tion to the matter, but much to the ardent speech and face of 
 enthusiasm, Harvey made a quiet remark. 
 
 " I want you to decide very soon what we are going to do." 
 
 " Going to do ? " 
 
 " About the future — where we are to live." 
 
 Alma strummed lightly with her finger-tips upon the table, and 
 smiled, but did not look up. 
 
 " Do you really think of making any change ? " 
 
 " I leave it entirely to you. You remember our last talk before 
 we came away. You have simply to ask yourself what your needs 
 are. Be honest with yourself and with me. Don't sacrifice life to 
 a whim, one way or the other. You have had plenty of time to 
 think ; you have known several ways of life ; you're old enough to 
 understand yourself. Just make up your mind, and act.'' 
 
 " But it's ridiculous, Harvey, to speak as if I had only myself to 
 consider." 
 
 " I don't want you to do so. But supposing that were your 
 position, now, after all your experience, where would you choose 
 to live ? " 
 
 He constrained her to answer, and at length she spoke, with a 
 girlish diffidence which seemed to him very charming. 
 
 " I like the concerts — and I like to be near my musical friends — 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 173 
 
 and I don't think it's at all necessary to give up one's rational way 
 of living just because one is in London instead of far away.'' 
 
 " Precisely. That means we ought to come back." 
 
 " Not if you do it unwillingly.'' 
 
 " I'll be frank in my turn. For Hughie's sake, I don't think we 
 ought to live in the town ; but it's easy enough to find healthy 
 places just outside." 
 
 " I shouldn't wish to be actually in the town," said Alma, her 
 voice tremulous with pleasure. " You know where the Leaches 
 are living.' " 
 
 " Yes . Or just a little farther away, on the higher ground. 
 Very well, let us regard that as settled." 
 
 " But you, dear — could you live there .'' " 
 
 " Well enough. It's all the same to me if I have my books and a 
 field to walk in — and if you don't want me to see too many women." 
 
 Alma laughed gaily, and had done with semblance of hesitation. 
 
 They began to search for a house, and in a week's time had 
 found one, newly built, which seemed to answer their require- 
 ments. It was at Pinner, not many minutes by rail from Alma's 
 friends at Kingsbury-Neasden, and only about half-an-hour from 
 Baker Street — " so convenient for the concerts." A new house 
 might be damp, but the summer months were hastening to dry it, 
 and they would not enter into residence before the end of autumn. 
 '' We must go and enjoy our heather," said Alma brightly. The 
 rent was twice what Harvey had been paying ; there was no sta- 
 bling, but Alma agreed that they ought not to keep a horse, for 
 naturally there would be " other expenses." 
 
 Other expenses, to be sure. But Harvey signed the three years' 
 lease without misgiving. A large surplus lay in hand after the 
 " simple life " in Carnarvonshire, and his position was not that of 
 men who have extravagant wives. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The Leach family gave it to be understood by their friends 
 that they had moved out of town because of Mrs. Leach's health. 
 Other explanations were suspected ; for the new establishment 
 seemed to be on a more modest footing than that in Elgin Road, 
 
174 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 and the odd arrangement whereby Mr. Leach came home only on 
 Saturday could not be without significance. Mrs. Leach, it was 
 true, suffered from some obscure affection of the nerves, which 
 throughout the whole of her married life had disabled her from 
 paying any continuous regard to domestic affairs ; this debility had 
 now reached such a point that the unfortunate lady could do noth- 
 ing but collapse in chairs and loll on sofas. As her two daughters, 
 though not debilitated, had never dreamt of undertaking household 
 management, all such matters were left to a cook-housekeeper, 
 changed every few months, generally after a quarrel, wherein 
 Mrs. Leach put forth, for an invalid, very surprising energy. Mr. 
 Leach, a solicitor, had no function in life but to toil without pause 
 for the support of his family in genteel leisure ; he was a mild 
 man, dreading discord, and subservient to his wife. For many 
 years he had made an income of about ^2000, every penny of 
 which, excepting a small insurance premium, had been absorbed 
 by expenses of the house. At the age of fifty, prematurely worn 
 by excessive labour, he was alarmed to find his income steadily 
 diminishing, with no corresponding diminution — but rather the 
 opposite — in the demands made upon him by wife and daugh- 
 ters. In a moment of courage, prompted by desperation, he ob- 
 tained the consent of Dora and Gerda to this unwelcome change 
 of abode. It caused so much unpleasantness between himself and 
 Mrs. Leach, that he was glad to fit up a sleeping-room at his office 
 and go home only once a week ; whereby he saved time, and had 
 the opportunity of starving himself as well as of working himself 
 to death. 
 
 Dora and Gerda, having grown up in such domestic circum- 
 stances, accepted them with equanimity. When their father spoke 
 nervously of retrenchment, saying that he grew old and must save 
 money to provide for their future, they made no objection, but 
 were as far as ever from perceiving the sordid tragedy of his lot. 
 Dora lived for her music ; Gerda sang a little, but was stronger on 
 the social side, delighting in festivities and open-air amusements. 
 They were amiable and intelligent girls, and would have been 
 amazed had any one charged them with selfishness ; no less if it 
 had been suggested to them that they personally might rectify the 
 domestic disorder of which at times they were moved to complain. 
 They had no beauty, and knew it ; neither had received an offer 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 175 
 
 of marriage, and they looked for nothing of the kind. That their 
 dresses cost a great deal, was taken as a matter of course ; also 
 that they should go abroad when other people did, and have the 
 best places at concert or theatre, and be expansively " at home." 
 With all sincerity they said of themselves that they lived a quiet 
 life. How could it be quieter ? — unless one followed the example 
 of Alma Rolfe ; but Alma was quite an exceptional person — to 
 be admired and liked, not to be imitated. 
 
 Yet even Alma, it seemed, had got tired of her extraordinary 
 freak. She was back again within the circle of civilisation ; or, as 
 she put it in her original, amusing way, " on the outer edge of the 
 whirlpool." She had a very nice little house, beautifully furnished ; 
 every one knew Alma's excellent taste. She came frequently to 
 Kingsbury-Neasden, and ran up to town at least as often as they 
 (Dora and Gerda) did. Like them she found it an annoyance to 
 have to rush to the station before midnight ; but, being married, 
 she could allow herself more freedom of movement than was per- 
 missible to single young women, and having once missed the last 
 train, she simply went to a hotel where she was known, and 
 quietly returned to Pinner next morning. That Mrs. Rolfe had 
 such complete liberty and leisure seemed to them no subject for 
 remark ; being without cares, she enjoyed life ; a matter of course. 
 And she was so very clever. No wonder Mr. Rolfe (charming, 
 man) always had admiration in his eyes when he looked at her. 
 Some husbands (miserable churls) can see nothing in their wives, 
 and never think of encouraging what talent they may have. But 
 when Alma grew a little dissatisfied with her violin (a"Vuilla- 
 ume,'' which poor Mr. Bennet Frothingham had given her in the 
 days gone by), Mr. Rolfe did not hesitate to spend fifty pounds on 
 an instrument more to her liking ; and the dear girl played on it 
 divinely. 
 
 There was no shadow of envy in Dora Leach. " I don't play 
 quite badly,'' she said to Alma. " Goodness knows, I oughtn't 
 to, after all the lessons I've had and the pains I've given. But 
 with you it's different, dear. You know very well that, if you 
 liked, you could become a professional, and make a name." 
 
 " I might have done," Alma admitted ; " but marriage put an 
 end to that. You have too much sense to think I mean that I 
 repent it." 
 
176 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " I don't see why marriage should put an end to it," urged 
 Dora. " I'm quite sure your husband would be very proud if you 
 came out and had a great success." 
 
 " But if I came out and made a fiasco ? " 
 
 " You wouldn't.'' 
 
 That was in the summer of 1890, when the Rolfes had been liv- 
 ing at Pinner for eight months. The new violin (new to her, old 
 and mellow in itself) had inspired Alma to joyous exertions. 
 Again she took lessons from Herr Wilenski, who was sparing of 
 compliment, but, by the mere fact of receiving her at all, showed 
 his good opinion. And many other people encouraged her in a fine 
 conceit of herself. Mrs. Strangeways called her " an unrecognised 
 genius," and worshipped at her feet. To be sure, one did not pay 
 much attention to Mrs. Strangeways, but it is sweet to hear such 
 phrases, and twice already, though against her better judgment. 
 Alma had consented to play at that lady's house. 
 
 On both these occasions Cyrus Redgrave was present. Choos- 
 ing his moment, he approached her, looked in her face with a 
 certain timidity to which Alma was not insensible, and spoke as an 
 ordinary acquaintance. There was no helping it ; the man had 
 been formally introduced, and, as he suggested, they had begun to 
 know each other afresh. Alma liked to remember how severely 
 she had treated him at that first encounter ; perhaps that was 
 enough for dignity. Mr. Redgrave would hardly forget himself 
 again. For the rest, she could not pretend, within herself, to dis- 
 like him ; and if he paid homage to her beauty, to her social charm, 
 to her musical gifts (all of which things Alma recognised and 
 tabulated), it might be only just to let him make amends for some- 
 thing known to both of them, The insult Alma was far from for- 
 giving. But when she had talked twice with Redgrave — distantly, 
 as a stranger to all his affairs — it began to steal upon her mind 
 that there would be a sweetly subtle satisfaction in allowing the 
 man to imagine that her coldness was not quite what it seemed ; 
 that so, perchance, he might be drawn on and become enslaved. 
 She had never been able to congratulate herself on a conquest of 
 Cyrus Redgrave, The memory of Bregenz could still, at moments, 
 bring the blood to her face ; for it was a memory of cool, calculat- 
 ing outrage, not of passion that had broken bounds. To subdue 
 the man in good earnest would be another thing, and a peculiarly 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL I77 
 
 delicious morsel of revenge. Was it possible ?' Not long ago she 
 would have scoffed at the thought, deeming Redgrave incapable of 
 love in any shape. But her mind was changing in an atmosphere 
 of pleasure and flattery, and under the influence of talk such as 
 she heard in this house and one or two others like it. 
 
 To her husband, she represented Mrs. Strangeways as a very 
 pleasant woman with a passion for all the arts ; formerly wife of a 
 painter, and now married to a wealthy man who shared her tastes. 
 This satisfied Harvey ; but Alma had not deceived herself, and 
 could not be quite comfortable with Mrs. Strangeways. She no 
 longer puzzled over the flow of guests to the house in Porchester 
 Terrace, having discovered not only that most of these were 
 people, as Sibyl said, of no account, who had few houses open to 
 them, hut that several would not be admitted to any circle of scru- 
 pulous respectability. The fact was that Mrs, Strangeways largely 
 entertained the demimonde, to use in its true sense a term persis- 
 tently misappHed. Not impossibly she thought the daughter of 
 Bennet Frothingham might, from one point of view, be included 
 among such persons ; on the othe'r hand, her warmth proved that 
 she regarded Mrs. Rolfe as a social acquisition, if indeed she was 
 not genuinely attracted to her. What circumstances had led, or 
 forced, Mrs. Strangeways into this peculiar position. Alma could 
 not discover; it might be simply one result of an unfortunate 
 marriage, for undoubtedly there was something sinister in the hus- 
 band, a coarseness varnished with sham geniality, which made 
 Alma dislike to be near him. In the woman herself she found little 
 that was objectionable ; her foolish effusiveness, and her artificial 
 complexion, seemed to indicate merely a weak character; at times 
 her talk was interesting, and she knew many people of a class 
 superior to that represented in her drawing-room. But for the illu- 
 mination she had received. Alma would have felt surprised at meet- 
 ing Cyrus Redgrave in these assemblies ; formerly she had thought 
 of him as belonging to a sphere somewhat above her own, a quasi- 
 aristocratic world, in which Sibyl Carnaby, the daughter of Mrs. 
 Ascott Larkfield, also moved by right of birth and breeding. 
 Sibyl, however, was not above accepting Mrs. Strangeways' invi- 
 tations, though she continued to speak of her slightingly; and 
 Redgrave had known the lady for a long time— even, it appeared, 
 before her first marriage. 
 
178 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 In a year's time Alma had made and renewed a large number 
 of acquaintances. She spoke of herself as living " in the country," 
 and still professed a dislike of mere gaiety, a resolve to maintain 
 her simple, serious mode of existence. At half-an-hour's journey 
 from town, she was protected against the time-wasting intrusion 
 of five-o'clock babblers ; a luncheon or two in the season, and a 
 modest dinner at long intervals, would discharge her social liabi- 
 lities ; and she had the precious advantage of being able to use 
 London for all legitimate purposes, without danger of being drawn 
 into the vortex of its idle temptations. Once more she was work- 
 ing earnestly at her music — much, it seemed, to Harvey's satis- 
 faction. He wanted her to go on also with water-colours, but she 
 pointed out to him that one art was all she had time for. 
 
 " It's all very well for mere amateurs to take up half a dozen 
 things. I aim at more than that. You would like me, wouldn't 
 you, to become really something as a violinist ? " 
 
 Harvey assented. 
 
 " And you understand," she pursued, regarding him with her 
 bright smile, " that the life of an artist can't be quite like that of 
 other women ? " 
 
 " Of course, I understand it. You know I don't wish to put the 
 least restraint upon you." 
 
 •' My one fear was, that you might think I went about rather too 
 much — didn't pay enough attention to home " 
 
 " We manage pretty well, I think. You needn't have any such 
 fear." 
 
 " Of course, when Hughie gets older — when I can really begin 
 to teach him " 
 
 The child was now approaching the close of his third year, and, 
 in Harvey's opinion, needed more than the attention of an ordi- 
 nary nursemaid. They had recently engaged a nursery-governess, 
 her name Pauline Smith ; a girl of fair education and gentle breed- 
 ing, who lived as a member of the family. It appeared to Rolfe 
 that Hughie was quite old enough to benefit by his mother's gui- 
 dance and companionship ; but he had left himself no ground for 
 objection to Alma's ordering of her life. The Welsh servant, 
 Ruth, still remained with them, acting to a great extent as house- 
 keeper, and having under her a maid and a boy. Ruth, a trust- 
 worthy woman, was so well paid that they had not to fear her 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 179 
 
 desertion. Regularity and comfort prevailed to a much greater 
 extent than might have been looked for under the circumstances. 
 Expenditure had of course greatly increased, and now touched the 
 limit of Harvey's ordinary income ; but this was a matter which 
 did not immediately concern Mrs. Rolfe. For domestic and pri- 
 vate purposes she had a bank account of her own ; an arrangement 
 made on their removal to Pinner, when Harvey one morning 
 handed her a pass-book and a cheque-book, remarking that she 
 would find to her credit a couple of hundred pounds. Alma pre- 
 tended to think this unnecessary, but her countenance betrayed 
 pleasure. When he thought the fund must be nearly exhausted, 
 he made a new payment to the account, without saying anything ; 
 and Alma preserved an equally discreet silence. 
 
 One of her new acquaintances was Mrs. Rayner Mann, a lady 
 who desired to be known as the patroness of young people aiming 
 at success on the stage or as musicians. Many stories were told 
 of Mrs. Mann's generosity to struggling artists, and her house at 
 Putney swarmed with the strangest mingling of people, some un- 
 doubtedly in society, others no less decidedly out of it. Here 
 Alma encountered Felix Dymes, whose reputation and prosperity 
 had much advanced since their meeting at Munich. The comic 
 opera of which he then spoke had been brought out at a provincial 
 theatre with considerable success, and was shortly to be produced 
 in London ; his latest songs, " TheLight of Home," and " Where 
 the Willow Dips," had caught the ear of the multitude. Alma 
 ridiculed these compositions, mocking at the sentimentalism of the 
 words, and declaring that the airs were mere popular tinkle ; but 
 people not inferior to her in judgment liked the music, which 
 certainly had a sweetness and pathos not easy to resist. The 
 wonder was how such a man as Felix Dymes could give birth 
 to such tender melody. The vivacity of his greeting when of a 
 sudden he recognised Alma, contrasted markedly with Cyrus Red- 
 grave's ill-concealed embarrassment in the like situation. Dymes 
 had an easy conscience, and in the chat that followed he went so 
 far as to joke about his ill-luck some four years ago. 
 
 "You didn't think much of me. But I'm going ahead, you 
 know. You have to admit I'm going ahead." 
 
 Prosperity was manifest in his look and voice. He had made 
 no advance in refinement, and evidently thought himself above the 
 
i8o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 necessity of affecting suave manners ; his features seemed to grow 
 even coarser ; his self-assertion was persistent to the point of gro- 
 tesque conceit. 
 
 " Is your husband musical ? " he asked. 
 
 " Not particularly.'' 
 
 " Well, there's something to be said for that. One doesn't 
 always want to be talking shop. — I can't help looking at you; 
 you've altered in a queer sort of way. You were awfully fetching, 
 you know, in those days." 
 
 " You were awfully impertinent," replied Alma, with a laugh. 
 " And I don't see that you've altered at all in that respect." 
 
 " Do you play still ? " 
 
 " A good deal better than I used to." 
 
 " Really ? If it's true, why don't you come out ? I always 
 believed in you — I did really. There's no better proof of it than 
 what I said at Munich ; you were the only girl that could have 
 brought me to that, you know ; it was quite against my principles. 
 Have you heard of Ada Wellington ? — a girl I'm going to bring 
 out next spring — a pianist ; and she'll make a hit. I should like 
 you to know her." 
 
 " How do you mean you are going to bring her out ? " 
 
 " Do all the business for her, you know ; run the show. Not as 
 a speculation ; I don't want to make anything out of it, more than 
 expenses. I know her people ; they're very badly off, and I shall 
 be glad if I can do them a good turn. There's nothing between us ; 
 just friends, that's all. If ever you come out, put the business into 
 my hands, will you ? " 
 
 " I won't promise," replied Alma, " until I see how you succeed 
 with Miss Wellington.'' 
 
 " Shall it be an understanding ? If I float Ada, you'll let me 
 have a try with you ? " 
 
 " We'll talk of it, Mr. Dymes, when you have learnt the ele- 
 ments of good manners." 
 
 She nodded in a friendly way, and left him. 
 
 Their next meeting was at a music-shop, where Dymes came in 
 whilst Alma was making purchases. The composer, clad in a 
 heavy fur overcoat, entered humming a tune loudly, by way of 
 self-advertisement ; he was at home here, for the proprietors 
 of the business published his songs. On perceiving Alma, he 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL i8i 
 
 dropped his blustering air, bowed with exaggerated politeness, and 
 professed himself overjoyed. 
 
 " I looked in just to try over a thing I've got in my head. Do 
 come and listen to it — will you ? It would be so kind of you to 
 give me your opinion." 
 
 He pointed to a room at the back, visible between plush cur- 
 tains. Alma, wishing to refuse, murmured that she had very little 
 time ; but Dymes prevailed, and she followed him. They passed 
 into the pleasant warmth of a blazing fire. The musician flung 
 off his coat, and at once sat down at the grand piano, open for 
 the convenience of such favoured persons as himself ; whilst Alma 
 seated herself in an easy-chair, which she had pushed forward so 
 as to allow of her being seen from the shop. After some preli- 
 minary jingling, Dymes played an air which the listener could not 
 but like ; a dainty, tripping melody, fit for a fairy song, with 
 strange little echoes as of laughter, and a half-feigned sadness in 
 the close. With hands suspended, Dymes turned to see the effect 
 he had produced. 
 
 " Is that your own ? " Alma asked. 
 
 " I'm under that impression. Rather good, I think— don't you ? " 
 
 " Very pretty." 
 
 She hardly believed his assurance, so strong was the contrast 
 between that lightsome lyric and the coarse vanity of the man him- 
 self. He played it again, and she liked it still better, uttering a 
 more decided word of praise. 
 
 " Dicky must write me patter for that ! " Dymes exclaimed, 
 when he saw that she smiled with pleasure. " You don't know 
 Dicky Wellington.? ' A cousin of Ada's. By-the-bye, her concert 
 will be at the end of May— Princes' Hall, most likely. You shall 
 have a ticket." 
 
 " Very kind of you.'' 
 
 " You know that Mrs. Rayner Mann is giving a charity concert 
 next week .' " 
 
 " I have been asked to take part in it," said Alma quietly. 
 
 " I'm awfully glad of that ! " shouted Dymes, " So I shall hear 
 you again. The fact is, you know, I don't think of you as an 
 amateur. I can't stand amateurs, except one or two. I've got it 
 into my head that you've been one of us, and retired. Queer 
 thing, isn't it ? " 
 
i82 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Alma enjoyed the flattery. Comfortable in her chair, she 
 showed no disposition to move. Dymes asked her what she 
 thought of playing, and she told him, Hauser's " Rhapsodic Hon- 
 groise." 
 
 " I'm always being bored by amateurs," he resumed. " A silly 
 woman who belongs to a Symphony Society asked me yesterday 
 to go and hear her play in the C minor ! I begged to be told what 
 harm I had ever done her, and she said I was very rude. But I 
 always am to people of that sort ; I can't help it. Another of them 
 asked me to tell her of a nice piece for the piano — a really nice piece. 
 At once I suggested Chopin's A flat major Polonaise. Do you 
 know it? " 
 
 " Of course I do. Could you play it yourself .' " 
 
 " I ? Of course not. You don't imagine that because one is a 
 successful composer he must be a brilliant virtuoso. I hardly ever 
 touch a musical instrument. Wagner was a very poor player, and 
 Berlioz simply couldn't play at all. I'm a musical dreamer. Do 
 you know that I literally dreamt ' The Light of Home ' .'' Now, 
 that's a proof of genius." 
 
 Alma laughed. 
 
 " But it is ! Do you know how most songs get made nowa- 
 days ? There's Sykes' ' Come when the Dawn ' — you remember 
 it ? I happen to know all about that. A fellow about town some- 
 how got hold of an idea for a melody ; he didn't know a note, but 
 he whistled it to Sykes, and Sykes jotted it down. Now, Sykes 
 knows no more of harmony than a broomstick, so he got another 
 man to harmonise it, and then a fourth fellow wrote an orchestral ac- 
 companiment. That's the kind of thing— division of labour in art." 
 
 " You're quite sure you do everything for yourself.? " said Alma 
 mischievously, rising at length. 
 
 " I forgive you, because you're really one of us— you are, you 
 know. You haven't the look of an amateur. Now, when you've 
 gone out, I'll ask Sammy, behind the counter there, who he thinks 
 you are, and I'll give Mrs. Rayner Mann a guinea for her charity 
 if he doesn't take you for a professional musician.'' 
 
 "You will be good enough, Mr. Dymes," said Alma severely, 
 " not to speak of me at all to any one behind a counter." 
 
 " It was only a joke. Of course, I shouldn't have done any- 
 thing of the kind. Good-bye ; shall see you at Putney." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 183 
 
 For all that, no sooner was Mrs. Rolfe gone than Dymes did 
 talk of her with the salesman, and in a way peculiar to his species, 
 managing, with leers and half-phrases, to suggest not only that 
 the lady was a performer of distinction, but that, like women in 
 general, she had found his genius and his person fatally attractive. 
 Dymes had the little weaknesses of the artistic temperament. 
 
 As usual, Mrs. Rayner Mann's concert was well attended, and 
 Alma's violin solo, though an audience more critical than she had 
 yet faced made her very nervous to begin with, received much 
 applause. Felix Dymes, not being able to get a seat at her side, 
 stood behind her, and whispered his admiration. 
 
 " You've gone ahead tremendously. That isn't amateur play- 
 ing. All the others are not fit to be heard in the same day. 
 Really, you know, you ought to think of coming out." 
 
 Many other persons were only less complimentary, and one, 
 Mrs. Strangeways, was even more so ; she exhausted herself in 
 terms of glowing eulogy. At the end of the concert this lady drew 
 Alma apart. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Rolfe, I wonder whether I could ask you to do me a 
 kindness ? Are you in any hurry to get home ? " 
 
 It was six o'clock, on an evening of January. Delighted with 
 her success. Alma felt very much like a young man whose exube- 
 rant spirits urge him to " make a night of it." She declared that 
 she was in no hurry at all, and would be only too glad to do Mrs. 
 Strangeways any kindness in her power. 
 
 " It will sound rather odd to you," pursued the lady in a low 
 voice, " but I would rather trust you than any one else. You know 
 that Mr. Redgrave and I are very old friends— such old friends 
 that we are really almost like brother and sister." 
 
 Alma nodded. 
 
 " You've heard us speak of his bungalow at Wimbledon. Just 
 now he is in Paris, and he happens to want a portrait, a photo- 
 graph, out of an album in the bungalow. Naturally he would have 
 asked his sister to look for it and send it, but Mrs. Fenimore is also 
 away from home ; so he has written to me, and begged me to do 
 him the kindness. I know exactly where the photo is to be looked 
 for, and all I have' to do is to drive over to Wimbledon, and a ser- 
 vant will be waiting to admit me. Now, you will think it childish, 
 but I really don't like to go alone. Though Mr. Redgrave and I 
 
i84 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 are such great friends, of course I have only been to the bungalow 
 when he had people there — and — of course it's very foolish at my 
 age — but I'm sure you understand me -" 
 
 " You mean you would like me to go with you ? " said Alma, 
 with uncertain voice. 
 
 " Dare I ask it, dear Mrs. Rolfe ? There will be no one but the 
 servant, who is told to expect a friend of her master's. I am very 
 foolish, but one cannot be too careful, you know, and with you I 
 shall feel everything so simple and natural and straightforward. 
 I'm sure you understand me." 
 
 " Certainly," faltered Alma. " Yes — I will go " 
 
 " Oh, how sweet of you, dear ! Need I say that I should never 
 breathe a word to Mr. Redgrave ? He will think I went alone — 
 as of course I very well might " 
 
 " But — if the servant should mention to him ? " 
 
 " My dear, keep your fall down. And then it is perfectly certain 
 he will never ask a question. He thinks it such a trivial matter " 
 
 Alma did not entertain the least doubt of her friend's veracity, 
 and the desire to have a companion on such an expedition seemed 
 to her natural enough ; yet she felt so uneasy at the thought of 
 what she had consented to do, that even whilst descending the 
 stnirs she all but stopped and begged to be excused. The thought 
 of stealing into Redgrave's bachelor home, even with Mrs. Strange- 
 ways, startled and offended her self-respect ; it seemed an im- 
 modesty. She had never been invited to the bungalow ; though 
 Mrs. Carnaby had received and accepted such an invitation for an 
 afternoon in the summer, when Mrs. Strangeways did the honors. 
 Redgrave was now scrupulously respectful ; he would not presume 
 so far on their revived acquaintance as to ask her to Wimbledon. 
 For this very reason — and for others — she had a curiosity about 
 the bungalow. Its exotic name affected her imagination ; as did 
 the knowledge that Cyrus Redgrave, whom she knew so particu- 
 larly well, had built it for his retreat, his privacy. Curiosity and 
 fear of offending Mrs. Strangeways overcame her serious reluctance. 
 On entering the carriage she blushed hotly. It was the first time 
 in her life that she had acted with deliberate disregard of grave 
 moral compunction, and conscience revenged itself by lowering her 
 in her own eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Strangeways talked all the way, but not once of Redgrave; 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 185 
 
 her theme was the excellence of Alma's playing, which, she de- 
 clared, had moved every one with wonder and delight. 
 
 " Several people took it for granted that you were a professional 
 violinist. I heard one man saying, ' How is it I don't know her 
 name ? ' Of course, your'playing in an amateur is altogether excep- 
 tional. Did it ever occur to you to come forward professionally ? " 
 
 " I thought of it once, before my marriage." 
 
 " Ah ! you really did ? I'm not at all surprised. Would Mr. 
 Rolfe look with disapproval ? " 
 
 "I hardly know," replied Alma, who was not mistress of herself, 
 and paid little attention to what she was saying. " I dare say he 
 wouldn't mind much, one way or another." 
 
 " Indeed ? " 
 
 The intimate significance of this word warned Alma that she 
 had spoken too carelessly. She hastened to add that, of course, 
 in such a matter, her husband's wish would be final, and that she 
 had never thought of seeking his opinion on the subject. 
 
 " If ever you should take, that step, my dear, it will mean a great 
 triumph for you — oh ! a great triumph ! And there is room just 
 now for a lady violinist — don't you think .' One has to take into 
 account other things besides mastery of the instrument ; with the 
 public naturally, a beautiful face and a perfect figure " 
 
 This was too much even for Alma's greediness of flattery ; she 
 interrupted the smooth, warm adulation with impatient protest, 
 and told herself — though she did not quite know the reason — that 
 after that day she would see less of Mrs. Strangeways. 
 
 The carriage stopped. Glancing to either side. Alma saw that 
 they were in a country road, its darkness broken at this spot by 
 the rays of two gas-lamps which flanked a gateway. The foot- 
 man had alighted ; the gate was thrown open ; the carriage passed 
 through on to a gravel drive. Her nerves strung almost beyond 
 endurance, and even now seeking courage to refuse to enter the 
 house. Alma felt the vehicle turn on a sharp curve, and stop. 
 
 " We shall not be more than a minute," said Mrs. Strangeways, 
 just above her breath, as though she spoke with effort. 
 
 Involuntarily, Alma laid a hand on her arm. 
 
 " I will — wait for you here — please •" 
 
 " But, dear, your promise ! Oh, you wouldn't fail me ? " 
 
 The carriage door had opened ; the footman stood beside it. 
 
1 86 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Scarce knowing what she did. Alma stepped out after her compan- 
 ion, and in the same moment found a glow of light poured suddenly 
 about her ; it came from the entrance-hall of a house, where a fe- 
 male servant had presented herself. A house of unusual construc- 
 tion, with pillars and a veranda; nothing more was observable by 
 her dazzled and confused senses. Mrs. Strangeways said something 
 to the servant ; they entered, crossed a floor of smooth tiles, under 
 electric light ruby-coloured by glass shades, and were led into a 
 room illumined only by a fire until the servant turned on a soft 
 radiance like that in the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Strangeways glanced about her as if surprised. 
 
 " You are not expecting Mr. Redgrave } " she said quickly. 
 
 " No, madam. We always have fires against the damp." , 
 
 Thereupon the woman withdrew, closing the door, and Mrs. 
 Strangeways, who was very pale save for her rouge spots, said in 
 a low tone of great relief — 
 
 " I began to fear there might be some mistake. Put up your 
 veil for a moment, dear, and glance at the pictures. Every one 
 has cost a small fortune. Oh, he is immensely rich — and knows 
 so well what to buy ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Alma's agitation did not permit her to examine details. The 
 interior of Redgrave's house was very much what she had im- 
 agined ; its atmosphere of luxurious refinement, its colour, perfume, 
 warmth, at once allured and alarmed her. She wished to indulge 
 her senses, and linger till she had seen every thing ; she wished to 
 turn at once and escape. Mrs. Strangeways, meanwhile, seemed 
 to be looking for the album of which she had spoken, moving 
 hither and thither, with a frequent pause as of one who listens, or 
 a glance towards the door. 
 
 " You won't be long ? " said Alma, turning abruptly to her. 
 
 " It's my silly nervousness, dear. I thought I remembered per- 
 fectly where the album lay. How foolish of me ! I quite tremble 
 — any one would think we were burglars." 
 
 She laughed, and stood looking about the room. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 187 
 
 " Is that it ? " asked Alma, pointing to a volume on a table near 
 her. 
 
 " Yes ! — no — I'm not sure." 
 
 An album it was ; Mrs. Strangeways unclasped it, and turned 
 over a few pages with quivering hand. 
 
 " No, I thought not. It's a smaller one. Oh, what a good 
 photo of Mrs. Carnaby ! Have you seen this one ? " 
 
 Alma stepped forward to look, strangely startled by the name 
 of her friend ; it was as though Sibyl herself had suddenly entered 
 the room and found her here. The photograph she already knew ; 
 but its eyes seemed to regard her with the very look of life, and at 
 once she drew back. 
 
 " Do find the right one, Mrs. Strangeways," she spoke implor- 
 ingly. " It must be What bell was that ? " 
 
 An electric bell had rung within the house ; it still trembled in 
 her ears, and she turned sick with fright. Mrs. Strangeways, 
 flushing red, stammered a reassurance. 
 
 " There — here is the right one — in a minute " 
 
 The door opened. As she saw it move, a dreadful certainty of 
 what was about to happen checked Alma's breath, and a sound 
 like a sob escaped her ; then she was looking straight into the eyes 
 of Cyrus Redgrave. He, wearing an ulster and with a travelling- 
 cap in his hand, seemed not to recognise her, but turned his look 
 upon her companion, and spoke with mirthful friendliness. 
 
 " What ! I have caught you, Mrs. Strangeways ? Police ! Oh, 
 I am so sorry I didn't send you a wire. I thought you would 
 come to-morrow, or the day after. How very kind of you to take 
 this trouble immediately. I had to run over at a moment's notice. 
 — ^Mrs. Rolfe ! Forgive me ; for the moment I didn't know you, 
 coming out of the darkness. So glad to see you.'' 
 
 He had shaken hands with both of them, behaving as though 
 Mrs. Rolfe 's presence were the most natural thing in the world. 
 But Alma's strength failed her ; she trembled towards the nearest 
 chair, and sank upon it. Mrs. Strangeways, who had;watched her 
 with anxiety, took a step to her side, speaking hurriedly. 
 
 " Mr. Redgrave, I took the liberty to use your house as if it were 
 my own. Mrs. Rolfe has over-tired, over-excited herself. She has 
 been playing this afternoon at a concert at Mrs. Rayner Mann's. 
 We were to drive back together, and came this way that I might 
 
i88 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 call here — for the photo. But Mrs. Rolfe became faint — after her 
 exertions " 
 
 Redgrave surpassed himself in graceful courtesy. How could 
 Mrs. Strangeways dream of offering excuses. Why had she not 
 called for tea — or anything .'' He would give orders at once, and 
 the ladies would permit him to get rid of his travelling attire, whilst 
 they rested. He was turnmg to leave the room when Alma rose 
 and commanded her voice. 
 
 " I am perfectly well again — thank you so much, Mr. Redgrave 
 — indeed I mustn't stay " 
 
 With admirable suavity Redgrave overcame her desire to be 
 gone. Pleading, h€ passed playfully from English into French, of 
 which he had a perfect command ; then, in his own language, de- 
 clared that French alone permitted one to make a request without 
 importunity, yet with adequate fervour. Alma again seated herself. 
 As she did so, her host and Mrs. Strangeways exchanged a swift 
 glance of mutual intelligence. 
 
 " How can I hope you will forgive me ? " the lady murmured at 
 Alma's ear as soon as they were alone. 
 
 " It's very annoying, and there's nothing more to be said," was 
 the cold reply. 
 
 " But it isn't of the least importance — do believe me. We are 
 such old friends. And no one can ever know — though it wouldn't 
 matter if all the world did." 
 
 " I dare say not. But, please, let our stay be as short as possi- 
 ble." 
 
 " We will go, dear, as soon as ever we have had a cup of tea. I 
 am so sorry ; it was all my foolishness.'' 
 
 The tea was brought, and Mrs. Strangeways, her nervousness 
 having quite passed away, began to talk as if she were in her own 
 drawing-room. Alma, too, had recovered control of herself, held 
 the teacup in an all but steady hand, and examined the room at 
 her leisure. After ten minutes' absence, Redgrave rejoined them, 
 now in ordinary dress ; his face warm from rapid ablution, and his 
 thin hair delicately disposed. He began talking in a bright, chatty 
 vein. So Mrs. Rolfe had been playing at a concert ; how he re- 
 gretted not having been there ! What had she played ? Then, 
 leaning forward with an air of kindness that verged on tenderness — 
 
 " I am sure it must be very exhausting to the nerves ; you have 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 189 
 
 so undeniably the glow, the fervour, of a true artist ; it is inspiring- 
 to watch you as you play, no less than to hear you. You do feel 
 better now ? " 
 
 Alma replied with civility, but did not meet his look. She re- 
 fused another cup of tea, and glanced so meaningly at her friend 
 that in a few moments Mrs. Strangeways rose. 
 
 " You won't leave me yet to my solitude .' " exclaimed Redgrave. 
 With a sigh he yielded to the inevitable, inquired gently once more 
 whether Mrs. Rolfe felt quite restored, and again overwhelmed 
 Mrs. Strangeways with thanks. Still the ladies had to wait a few 
 minutes for their carriage, which, at Redgrave's direction, had 
 made a long detour in the adjacent roads ; and during this delay, 
 as if the prospect of release inspirited her. Alma spoke a few words 
 in a more natural tone. Redgrave had asked what public con- 
 certs she usually attended. 
 
 " None regularly," was her reply. " I should often go on Sat- 
 urdays to the Crystal Palace, if it were not so far for me. I want 
 to get there, if possible, on Saturday week, to hear Sterndale Ben- 
 nett's new concerto." 
 
 "Ah, I should like to hear that!" said Redgrave. "We may 
 perhaps see each other." 
 
 This time she did not refuse to encounter his look, and the smile 
 with which she answered it was so peculiarly expressive of a self- 
 confident disdain that he could scarcely take his eyes from her. 
 Cyrus Redgrave knew as well as most men the signals of challenge 
 on a woman's features ; at a recent meeting he had detected 
 something of the sort in Alma's behaviour to him, and at this 
 moment her spirit could not be mistaken. Quite needlessly she 
 had told him where he might find her, if he chose. This was a 
 great step. To be defied so daringly meant to him no small en- 
 couragement. 
 
 " It's fortunate," said Alma, as the carriage bore her away, 
 " that we had this adventure with a^ gentleman." 
 
 The remark sounded surprising to Mrs. Strangeways. 
 
 " I'm so glad you have quite got over your annoyance, dear," 
 she replied. 
 
 " It was as bad for you as for me, under the circumstances. 
 But I'm sure Mr. Redgrave won't give it another thought." 
 
 And Alma chatted very pleasantly all the way back to town, 
 
igo THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 where she dined with Mrs. Strangeways. At eleven o'clock she 
 reached home. Her husband, who was recovering from a sore 
 throat, sat pipeless and in no very cheerful mood by the library 
 fire ; but the sight of Alma's radiant countenance had its wonted 
 effect upon him ; he stretched his arms, as if to rouse himself from 
 a long fit of reverie, and welcomed her in a voice that was a little 
 husky. 
 
 " Well, how did it go ? " 
 
 " Not badly, I think. And how have^w been getting on, poor 
 old boy ? " 
 
 " So so ; swearing a little because I couldn't smoke. But 
 Hughie has a cold to-night ; caught mine, I dare say, confound it ! 
 Miss Smith took counsel with me about it, and we doctored him a 
 little." 
 
 " Poor dear little man ! I wish I had been back in time to see 
 him. But there was no getting away — had to stay to dinner " 
 
 Alma had not the habit of telling falsehoods to her husband, but 
 she did it remarkably well — even better, perhaps, than when she 
 deceived her German friend, Fraulein Steinfeld, in the matter of 
 Cyrus Redgrave's proposal ; the years had matured her, endowing 
 her with superior self-possession, and a finish of style in dealing 
 with these little difficulties. She was unwilling to say that she had 
 dined in Porchester Terrace, for Harvey entertained something of 
 a prejudice against that household. His remoteness nowadays 
 from the world in which Alma amused herself made it quite safe 
 to venture on a trifling misstatement. 
 
 " I have a note from Carnaby," said Rolfe. " He wants to see 
 me In town to-morrow. Says he has good news — ' devilish good 
 news,' to be accurate. I wonder what it is." 
 
 " The lawsuit won, perhaps." 
 
 •• Afraid not ; that'll take a few more years. Odd thing, I have 
 another letter— from Cecil Morphew, and he, too, says that he has 
 something hopeful to tell me about." 
 
 Alma clapped her hands, an unusual expression of joy for her. 
 
 " We are cheering up all round ! " she exclaimed. " Now, if 
 only you could light on something fortunate." 
 
 He gave her a quick look. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " Only that you haven't seemed in very good spirits lately." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 191 
 
 " Much as usual, I think. — Many people at Putney? " 
 " About a hundred and twenty. Compliments showered on me ; 
 I do so wish you could have heard them. Somebody told me that 
 some man asked her how it was he didn't know my name — he 
 took me for a professional violinist." 
 
 " Well, no doubt you are as good as many of them.'' 
 
 "You really think that.'" said Alma, pulling her chair a little 
 nearer to the fire and looking eagerly at him. 
 
 " Why shouldn't you be ? You have the same opportunities, and 
 make all possible use of them." 
 
 Alma was silent for a few ticks of the clock. Once, and a 
 second time, she stole a glance at Harvey's face ; then grasping 
 with each hand the arms of her chair, and seeming to string her- 
 self for an effort, she spoke in a half-jesting tone. 
 
 " What should you say if I proposed to come out — to he a pro- 
 fessional .'' " 
 
 Harvey's eyes turned slowly upon her ; he read her face with 
 curiosity, and did not smile. 
 
 " Do you mean you have thought of it ? " 
 
 " To tell you the truth, it is so often put into my head by other 
 people. I am constantly being asked why I'm content to remain 
 an amateur." 
 
 " By professional musicians .' " 
 
 " All sorts of people." 
 
 "It reminds me of something. You know I don't interfere; I 
 don't pretend to have you in surveillance, and don't wish to begin 
 it. But are you quite sure that you are making friends in the best 
 class that is open to you ? " 
 
 Alma's smile died away. For a moment she recovered the face 
 of years gone by ; a look which put Harvey in mind of Mrs. Froth- 
 ingham's little drawing-room at Swiss Cottage, where more than 
 once Alma had gazed at him with a lofty coldness which concealed 
 resentment. That expression could still make him shrink a little 
 and feel uncomfortable. But it quickly faded, giving place to a 
 look of perfectly amiable protest. 
 
 " My dear Harvey, what has caused you to doubt it ? " 
 
 " I merely asked the question. Perhaps it occurred to me that 
 you were not exactly in your place among people who talk to you 
 in that way." 
 
192 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " You must allow for my exaggeration," said Alma softly. 
 " One or two have said it — just people who know most about 
 music. And there's a way of putting things." 
 
 " Was Mrs. Carnaby there to-day .'' " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " You don't see her very often now ? " 
 
 " Perhaps not quite so often. I suppose the reason is that I am 
 more drawn to the people who care about music. Sibyl really 
 isn't musical — though, of course, I like her as much as ever. Then 
 — the truth is, she seems to have grown rather extravagant, and I 
 simply don't understand how she can keep up such a life — if it's 
 true that her husband is only losing money. Last time I was with 
 her I couldn't help thinking that she ought to — to deny herself 
 rather more. It's habit, I suppose." 
 
 Harvey nodded — twice, thrice ; and kept a grave countenance. 
 
 " And you don't care to see much of Mrs. Abbott.' " he rather 
 let fall than spoke. 
 
 " Well, you know, dear, I don't mean to be at all disagreeable, 
 but we have so little in common. Isn't it so } I am sure Mrs. 
 Abbott isn't anxious for my society.'' 
 
 Again Rolfe sat silent, and again Alma stole glances at him. 
 
 " Shall I tell you something I have in mind ? " he said at length, 
 with deliberation. " Hughie, you know, is three years old. Pauline 
 does very well with him, but it is time that he had companions — 
 other children. In half a year or so he might go to a kindergarten, 
 ar>d" — he made an instant's pause—" I know only of one which 
 would be really good for him. I think he will have to go to Mrs. 
 Abbott." 
 
 Their eyes met, and the speaker's were steadily fixed. 
 
 " But the distance } " objected Alma. 
 
 " Yes. If we want to do that, we must go to Gunnersbury." 
 
 Alma's look fell. She tapped with her foot and meditated, 
 slightly frowning. But, before Harvey spoke again, the muscles 
 of her face relaxed, and she turned to him with a smile, as though 
 some reflection had brought relief. 
 
 " You wouldn't mind the bother of moving ? " 
 
 " What is that compared with Hughie's advantage ? And if one 
 lives in London, it's in the nature of things to change houses once 
 a year or so," 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 193 
 
 " But we don't live in London ! " returned Alma, with a laugh. 
 
 " Much the same thing. At Gunnersbury you would be nearer 
 to everything, you know." 
 
 " Then you would send away Pauline ? " 
 
 Harvey made a restless movement, and gave a husky cough. 
 
 " Well, I don't know. You see, Hughie would be with Mrs. 
 Abbott only a few hours each day. Who is to look after the little 
 man at other times .? I suppose I can't very well undertake it my- 
 self—though I'm glad to see as much of him as possible ; and I 
 won't let him be with a servant. So " 
 
 Alma was gazing at the fire, and seemed to give only a divided 
 attention to what her husband said. Her eyes grew wide ; their 
 vision, certainly, was of' nothing that disturbed or disheartened her. 
 
 " You have given me two things to think about, Harvey. Will 
 you reflect on the one that I suggested ? " 
 
 " Thenyou meant it seriously? " 
 
 " I meant that I should like to have your serious opinion about 
 it. Only we won't talk now. I am very tired, and you, I'm sure, 
 oughtn't to sit late with your bad throat. I promise to consider 
 both the things you mentioned." 
 
 She held her hands to him charmingly, and kissed his cheek as 
 she said good-night. 
 
 Harvey lingered for another hour, and — of all people in the 
 world — somehow found himself thinking of Buncombe. Bun- 
 combe, his landlord in the big dirty house by Royal Oak. What 
 had become of Buncombe ? It would be amusing, some day to 
 look at the old house and see if Buncombe still lived there. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 They never talked about money. Alma took it for granted 
 that Harvey would not allow their expenditure to outrun his in- 
 come, and therewith kept her mind at rest. Rolfe had not 
 thought it necessary to mention that he derived about three hun- 
 dred pounds from debenture stock which was redeemable, and 
 that the date of redemption fell early in this present year, 1891. 
 He himself had all along scarcely regarded the matter. When the 
 
194 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 stock became his, 1891 seemed very remote; and on settling in 
 North Wales he felt financially so secure that the question of re- 
 investment might well be left for consideration till it was pressed 
 upon him. 
 
 As now it was. He could no longer disregard percentages ; he 
 wanted every penny that his capital would yield. Before marriage 
 he would have paid little heed to the fact that his canal shares (an 
 investment which he had looked upon as part of the eternal order 
 of things) showed an inclination to lose slightly in value ; now it 
 troubled him day and night. As for the debenture stock, he might, 
 if he chose, " convert " it without withdrawal, but that meant a 
 lower dividend, which was hardly to be thought of. Whither 
 should he turn for a security at once sound and remunerative .' 
 He began to read the money article in his daily paper, which hith- 
 erto he had passed over as if it did not exist, or turned from with 
 contemptuous impatience. He picked up financial newspapers at 
 railway bookstalls, and in private struggled to comprehend their 
 jargon, taking care that they never fell under his wife's eyes. At 
 the Metropolitan Club — of which he had resumed membership, 
 after thinking that he would never again enter club-land — he 
 talked with men who were at home in City matters, and indirectly 
 tried to get hints from them. He felt like one who meddles with 
 something forbidden — who pries, .shamefaced, into the secrets of an 
 odious vice. To study the money-market gave him a headache. 
 He had to go for a country walk, to bathe and change his clothes, 
 before he was at ease again. 
 
 Two only of his intimates had any practical acquaintance with 
 methods of speculation, and their experiences hitherto were not 
 such as to suggest his seeking advice from them. Hugh Carnaby 
 might or might not reap profit from his cycle factory ; as yet it 
 had given him nothing but worry and wavering hopes. Cecil 
 iMorphew had somehow got into better circumstances, had repaid 
 the loan of fifty pounds, and professed to know much more about 
 speculation than in the days when he made money only to lose it 
 again ; but it was to be feared that Cecil associated with people of 
 shady character, and might at any moment come to grief in a more 
 or less squalid way. He confessed that there was a mystery in 
 his life— something he preferred not to speak of even with an old 
 friend. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 195 
 
 Oddly enough, Carnaby and Morphew wrote both at the same 
 time, wishing to see him, and saying that they had cheering news 
 to impart. Amid his perplexities, which were not concerned with 
 money alone, Harvey welcomed this opportunity of forgetting him- 
 self for a few hours. He agreed to lunch with Hugh at a res- 
 taurant (Carnaby would have nothing to do with clubs), and bade 
 Morphew to dinner at the Metropolitan. 
 
 It was a day of drizzle and slush, but Harvey had got over his 
 sore throat, and in ordinary health defied the elements. Unlike 
 himself, Carnaby came a little late for his appointment, and pleaded 
 business with a " blackguard " in the (Jity. Rheums and bronchial 
 disorders were to him unknown ; he had never possessed an um- 
 brella, and only on days like this donned a light overcoat to guard 
 himself against what he called " the sooty spittle " of a London 
 sky. Yet he was not the man of four or five years ago. He had 
 the same appearance of muscularity, the same red neck and mighty 
 fists ; but beneath his eyes hung baggy flesh that gave him a 
 bilious aspect, his cheeks were a little sunken, and the tone of his 
 complexion had lost its healthy clearness. In temper, too, he had 
 suffered ; perhaps in manners. He used oaths too freely ; inter- 
 mingled his good bluff English— the English of a country gentle- 
 man — with recent slang ; tended to the devil-may-care rather than 
 to the unconsciously breezy and bold. 
 
 " Let us find a corner," he said, clutching his friend by the 
 shoulder, " out of the damned crowd." 
 
 " Lawsuit finished ? " asked Harvey, when they had found a 
 place and ordered their meal. 
 
 Hugh answered with a deep rolling curse. 
 
 When he returned to England, in the summer of 1889, he en- 
 tered at once into partnership with the man Mackintosh, taking 
 over an established business at Coventry, with which his partner 
 already had some connection. Not a week passed before they 
 found themselves at law with regard to a bicycle brake— a patent 
 they had begun by purchasing, only to find their right in it imme- 
 diately contested. The case came on in November ; it occupied 
 nine days, and was adjourned. Not until July of the following 
 year, 1890, was judgment delivered; it went for Mackintosh & 
 Co., the plaintiffs, whose claim the judge held to be proved. But 
 this by no means terminated the litigation. The defendants, who 
 
196 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 had all along persisted in manufacturing and selling this patent 
 brake, now obtained stay of injunction until the beginning of the 
 Michaelmas term, with the understanding that, if notice of appeal 
 were given before then, the injunction would be stayed until the 
 appeal was settled. And notice was given, and the appeal would 
 doubtless be heard some day or other ; but meanwhile the year 
 1 891 had come round, and Mackintosh & Co. saw their rivals 
 manufacturing and selling as gaily as ever. Hugh Carnaby grew 
 red in the face as he spoke of them ; his clenched fist lay on the 
 table-cloth, and it was pretty clear how he longed to expedite the 
 course of justice. 
 
 Still, he had good news to communicate, and he began by ask- 
 ing whether Harvey saw much of Redgrave. 
 
 " Redgrave ? " echoed the other in surprise. " Why, I hardly 
 know him." 
 
 " But your wife knows him very well." 
 " Yes ; I dare say she does." 
 
 Carnaby did not observe his friend's countenance ; he was eat- 
 ing with great appetite. " Redgrave isn't at all a bad fellow. I 
 didn't know him much till lately. Used to see him at B. F.'s, you 
 know, and one or two other places where I went with Sibyl. 
 Thought him rather a snob. But I was quite mistaken. He's a 
 very nice fellow when you get near to him." 
 
 Harvey's surprise was increased. For his own part, he still 
 thought of Redgrave with the old prejudice, though he had no 
 definite charge to bring against the man. He would have sup- 
 posed him the last person either to seek or to obtain favour with 
 Hugh Carnaby. 
 
 " Sibyl has known him for a long time," Hugh continued. 
 " Tells me he did all sorts of kindnesses for her mother at Ascott 
 Larkfield's death ; fixed up her affairs — they were in a devil of a 
 state, I believe. Last autumn we met him in Scotland ; he was 
 with his sister and her family — Mrs. Fenimore. Her husband's in 
 India, and he seems to look after her in a way that does him 
 credit. In fact, I saw a new side of the fellow. We got quite 
 chummy, and I happened to speak about Mackintosh & Co. 
 Well, now, what do you think ? Two days ago, at Coventry, I 
 got a note from him : he was coming through, and would like to 
 see me ; would I lunch with him at a hotel ? I did, and he sur- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 197 
 
 prised me by beginning to talk about business. The fact was, he 
 had some money lying loose, wanted to place it somewhere, and 
 had faith in cycles. Why shouldn't he make an offer to a friend .' 
 Would Mackintosh & Co. care to admit a new partner .' Or — 
 anyhow — could we make use of a few thousand pounds ? " 
 
 Rolfe had ceased to eat, and was listening intently. The story 
 sounded very strange to him ; it did not fit at all with his concep- 
 tion of Cyrus Redgrave. 
 
 " I suppose a few thousands would come very handy ? " he re- 
 marked. 
 
 " Well, old man, to tell you the truth, — I can doit now, — for me it 
 means a jump out of a particularly black hole. You must under- 
 stand that w'e're not doing downright badly ; we pay our way, but 
 that was about all. I, individually, shouldn't have paid my way 
 for many months longer. God ! how I clutched at it ! You don't 
 know what it is, Rolfe, to see your damned account at the bank 
 slithering away, and not a penny to pay in. I've thought of all 
 sorts of things — just stopping short of burglary, and I shouldn't 
 have stopped at that long." 
 
 " You mean that this new capital will give such a push to the 
 business " 
 
 " Of course ! It was just what we wanted. We couldn't ad- 
 vertise — couldn't buy a new patent — couldn't move at all. Now 
 we shall make things hum.'' 
 
 " Does Redgrave become a partner, then ? " 
 
 " A sleeping partner. But Redgrave is wide enough awake. 
 Mackintosh says he never met a keener man of business. You 
 wouldn't have thought it, would you ? I should fancy he man- 
 ages all his own property, and does it devilish well, too. Of 
 course, he has all sorts of ways of helping us on. He's got ideas 
 of his own, too, about the machines ; I shouldn't wonder if he hits 
 on something valuable. I never half understood him before. He 
 doesn't shoot much, but knows enough about it to make pleasant 
 talk. And he has travelled a good deal. Then, of course, he 
 goes in for art, music— all that sort of thing. There's really no 
 humbug about him. He's neither prig nor cad, though I used to 
 think him a little of both." 
 
 Harvey reflected ; revived his mental image of the capitalist, and 
 still found it very unlike the picture suggested by Hugh. 
 
igS THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Who w Redgrave ? " he asked. " How did he get his 
 money ? " 
 
 " I know nothing about that. I don't think he's a university 
 man. He hinted once that he was educated abroad. Seems to 
 know plenty of good people. Mrs. Fenimore, his sister, lives at 
 Wimbledon. Sibyl and I were over there not long ago, dining ; 
 one or two titled people, a parson, and so on ; devilish respecta- 
 ble, but dull — the kind of company that makes me want to stand 
 up and yell. Redgrave has built himself what he calls a bunga- 
 low, somewhere near the house ; but I didn't see it." 
 
 " You're a good deal at Coventry ? " asked Rolfe. 
 
 " Off and on. JusLbeen down for ten days. If it were possi- 
 ble, I should go steadily at the business. I used to think I 
 couldn't fit into work of that sort, but a man never knows what 
 he can do till he tries. I can't stand doing nothing ; that floors me, 
 I smoke too much, and drink too much, and get quarrelsome, and 
 wish I was on the other side of the world. But it's out of the 
 question to live down yonder; I couldn't ask Sibyl to do it." 
 
 " Do you leave her quite alone, then ? " 
 
 Carnaby made an uneasy movement. 
 
 "She has been visiting here and there for the last month ; now 
 her mother wants her to go to Ventnor. Much better she 
 shouldn't ; they hate each other — can't be together a day without 
 quarrelling. Pretty plain on which side the f^ult lies. I shouldn't 
 think there are many women better tempered than Sibyl. All 
 the time we've been married, and all we've gone through, I have 
 never once seen an unpleasant look on her face — to ;«<?, that is. 
 It's something to be able to say that. Mrs. Larkfield is simply 
 intolerable. She's always either whining or in a fury. Can't talk 
 of anything but the loss of her money." 
 
 " That reminds me," interposed Harvey. " Do you know that 
 there seems to be a chance of getting something out of the great 
 wreck ? " 
 
 " What ? Who says so ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Frothingham. The creditors come first, of course. Was 
 your wife creditor or shareholder? " 
 
 " Why, both." 
 
 " Then she may hear something before long. I don't pretend 
 to understand the beastly affair, but Mrs. Frothingham wrote to 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 199 
 
 us about it the day before yesterday, with hints of eighteenpence 
 in the pound, which she seemed to think vety glorious." 
 
 Carnaby growled in disgust. 
 
 " Eighteenpence be damned ! Well, perhaps it'll buy her a hat. 
 I tell you, Rolfe, when I compare Sibyl with her mother, I al- 
 most feel she's too good for the world. Suppose she had turned 
 out that sort of woman ! What would have been the end of it ? 
 Murder, most likely. But she bore the loss of all her money just 
 as she did the loss of her jewellery and things when our house was 
 burgled— never turned a hair. There's a girl to be proud of, I 
 tell you ! " 
 
 He insisted upon it so vehemently that one might have im- 
 agined him in conflict with secret doubts as to his wife's per- 
 fection. 
 
 " It's a very strange thing," said Rolfe, looking at his wine, 
 " that those thieves got clean away — not a single thing they stole 
 ever tracked. There can't be many such cases." 
 
 " I have a theory about that.'' Hugh half closed his eyes, look- 
 ing at once shrewd and fierce. " The woman herself — the house- 
 keeper — -is at this moment going about in society, somewhere. 
 She was no Whitechapel thief. There's a gang organised among 
 the people we live with. If I go out to dine, as likely as not I sit 
 next to a burglar or a forger, or anything you like. The police 
 never get on the scent, and it's the same in many another robbery. 
 Some day, perhaps, there'll be an astounding disclosure, a blazing 
 hell of a scandal — a dozen men and women marched from Bel- 
 gravia and Mayfair to Newgate. I'm sure of it! What else can 
 you expect of such a civilisation as ours .' Well, I should know 
 that woman again, and if ever I find myself taking her down to 
 dinner " 
 
 Harvey exploded in laughter. 
 
 " I tell you I'm quite serious," said the other angrily. " I know 
 that's the explanation of it ! There are plenty of good and honest 
 people still, but they can't help getting mixed up among the vilest 
 lot on the face of the earth. That's why I don't like my wife to 
 make new acquaintances. She won't get any harm, but I hate to 
 think of the people she perhaps meets. Mackintosh was telling 
 me of a woman in London who keeps up a big house and enter- 
 tains all sorts of people — and her husband knows where the 
 
200 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 money comes from. He wouldn't mention her name, because, by 
 Jove, he had himself contributed to the expenses of the establish- 
 ment ! It was three or four years ago, when he had his money 
 and ran through it. For all I know, Sibyl may go there — I can't 
 tell her about such things, and she wouldn't believe me if I did. 
 She's an idealist — sees everything through poetry and philosophy. 
 I should- be a brute if I soiled her mind. And, I say, old man, 
 why don't your wife and she see more of each other .' Is it just 
 the distance ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid that has something to do with it," Harvey replied, 
 trying to speak naturally. 
 
 " I'm sorry. They're both of them too good for ordinary 
 society. I wish to God we could all four of us go out to a place I 
 know in Tasmania, and live honest, clean, rational lives ! Can't 
 be managed. Your wife has her music ; Sibyl has her books, and 
 so on " 
 
 "By-the-bye, you know Mrs. Strangeways ? " 
 
 " I know of her.'" 
 
 " And not much good 1 " 
 
 " No particular harm. Sibyl saw a little of her, but I don't 
 think they meet now. Your wife know her .' " 
 
 " She has met her here and there : you and I are alike in that. 
 We can't stand the drawing-room, so our wives have to go about by 
 themselves. The days are past when a man watched over his 
 wife's coming and going as a matter of course. We should only 
 make fools of ourselves if we tried it on. It's the new world, my 
 boy; we live in it, and must make the best of it." 
 
 Hugh Carnaby drank more wine than is usually taken at lunch- 
 eon. It excited him to boisterous condemnation of things in 
 general. He complained of the idleness that was forced upon 
 him, except when he could get down to Coventry. 
 
 " I hang about for whole days doing literally nothing. What 
 should I do .? I'm not the man for books ; I can't get much sport 
 nowadays ; I don't care for billiards. I want to have an axe in 
 my hand ! " 
 
 Gesticulating carelessly, he swept a wine-glass off the table. 
 
 " There — damn it ! shows we've sat long enough. Corae and 
 talk to Sibyl, and let her give you a cup of tea. You never see her 
 — never ; yet she thinks better of you than of any other man we 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 201 
 
 know. Come, let's get out of this beastly air. The place reeks of 
 onions.'' 
 
 They went to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, where Rolfe 
 spent the time until he had to leave for his appointment with Cecil 
 Morphew. Sibyl was very kind, but gently reproachful. Why 
 had Alma forsaken her ? Why did Harvey himself never drop in .' 
 
 " I'm often quite lonely, Mr. Rolfe, and as one result of it I'm 
 getting learned. Look at these books. Won't you give me a 
 word of admiration? " 
 
 There was a volume of Crowe and Cavalcaselle, one of Symonds's 
 " Renaissance," Benvenuto's " Memoirs " in the original. 
 
 " I can't help clinging to the old world," she said sweetly. 
 " Hugh forgives me, like a good boy ; and you, I know, not only 
 forgive, but sympathise." 
 
 Of course, not a word passed with reference to Hugh Carnaby's 
 business ; Redgrave's name was not mentioned. Sibyl, one felt, 
 would decline to recognise, in her own. drawing-room, the gross 
 necessities of life. Had bankruptcy been impending, she would 
 have ignored it with the same perfection of repose. An inscrutable 
 woman, who could look and smile at one without conveying the 
 faintest suggestion of her actual thoughts. 
 
 On his way to the club, Harvey puzzled over what seemed to 
 him Redgrave's singular behaviour. Why should a man in that 
 position volunteer pecuniary aid to an obscure and struggling firm ? 
 Could it be genuine friendship for Hugh Carnaby ? That sounded 
 most improbable. Perhaps Redgrave, like the majority of people 
 in his world, appeared much wealthier than he really was, and saw 
 in Mackintosh's business a reasonable hope of profit. In that case, 
 and if the concern began to flourish, might not an older friend of 
 Carnaby's find lucrative employment for his capital .' 
 
 He had always thought with uttermost contempt of the man who 
 allows himself to be gripped, worried, dragged down, by artificial 
 necessities. Was he himself to become a victim of this social 
 disease .' Was he, resistless, to be drawn into the muddy whirl- 
 pool, to spin round and round among gibbering phantoms, aban- 
 doning himself with a grin of inane conceit, or clutching in 
 desperation at futile hopes .'' He remembered his tranquil life be- 
 tween the mountains and the sea ; his earlier freedom, wandering 
 in the sunlight of silent lands. Surely there needed but a little 
 
202 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 common-sense, a little decision, to save himself from this rushing 
 current. One word to Alma — would it not suffice ? But of all 
 things he dreaded to incur the charge of meanness, of selfishness. 
 That had ever been his weak point : in youth, well-nigh a cause of 
 ruin ; in later life, impelling him to numberless insincerities and 
 follies. 
 
 However, the danger as yet only threatened. He was solvent ; 
 he had still a reserve. It behoved him merely to avoid the risks 
 of speculation, and to check, in natural, unobtrusive ways, that 
 tendency to extravagance of living which was nowadays universal. 
 Could he not depend upon himself for this moderate manliness.? 
 
 Cecil Morphew, though differing in all other respects from 
 Hugh Carnaby, showed a face which, like Hugh's, was growing pre- 
 maturely old ; a fatigued complexion, sunken eyes ; an expression 
 mingled of discontent and eagerness, now furtive, now sanguine, 
 yet losing the worse traits in a still youthful smile as he came for- 
 ward to meet his friend. Year after year he clung to the old 
 amorous hope, but he no longer spoke of it with the same impul- 
 sive frankness; he did not shun the subject — brought it, indeed, 
 voluntarily forward, but with a shamefaced hesitance. His decla- 
 ration in a letter, not long ago, that he was unworthy of any good 
 woman's love, pointed to something which had had its share in the 
 obvious smirching of his character ; something common enough, 
 no doubt ; easily divined by Harvey Rolfe, though he could not 
 learn how far the man's future was compromised. To-day Mor- 
 phew began with talk of a hopeful tenor. He had got hold of a 
 little money ; he had conceived a project for making more. When 
 the progress of their eating and drinking cleared the way for con- 
 fidential disclosures, Morphew began to hint at his scheme. 
 
 " You've heard me speak of Denbow ? " This was a man who 
 had given him lessons in photography ; a dealer in photographic 
 apparatus, with a shop in Westminster Bridge Road. " He's a 
 very decent fellow, but it's all up with him. His wife drinks, and 
 he has lost money in betting, and now he wants to clear out — to 
 sell his business and get away. He came to me to apologise for 
 spoiling some negatives — he does a little printing for me now and 
 then — and told me what he meant to do. Did I know of any one 
 likely to take his shop ? " 
 
 Harvey laughed. 
 
WHIRLPOOL 203 
 
 " You're in with a queer lot of people, it seems to me." 
 " Oh, Denbow is all but a gentleman, I assure you. He was 
 educated at Charterhouse, but made a fool of himself, I believe, 
 in the common way. But about his business. I've seen a good 
 deal of it, going in and out, and talking with them, and I know 
 as much about photography as most amateurs — you'll admit that, 
 Rolfe ? " 
 
 It was true that he had attained more than ordinary skill with 
 the camera. Indeed, but for this resource, happily discovered in 
 the days of his hopelessness, he would probably have sunk out 
 of sight before now. 
 
 " Denbow's salesman is a thoroughly honest and capable fellow 
 — Hobcraft, his name. He's been at the shop three or four years, 
 and would be only too glad to carry on the business, but he can't 
 raise money, and Denbow must have cash down. Now the fact 
 is, I want to buy that business myself." 
 " I see. What does the man ask for it ? " 
 Morphew fidgeted a little. 
 
 " Well, just at present there isn't much stock— nothing like what 
 there ought to be. Denbow has been coming down the hill ; he's 
 stopped himself only just in time. When I first knew him he was 
 doing reasonably well. It's a good position for that kind of shop. 
 Swarms of men, you know, go backwards and forwards along the 
 Westminster Bridge Road, and just the kind of men, lots of them, 
 that take up photography— the better kind of clerk, and the man 
 of business who lives in the south suburbs. And photography is 
 going ahead so. I have all sorts of ideas. One might push the 
 printing branch of the business— and have dark rooms for ama- 
 teurs—and hit on a new hand-camera— and perhaps even start a 
 paper, call it Camera Notes, or something of that kind. Don't 
 
 smile and look sceptical " 
 
 " Not at all. It seems to me the best suggestion I've heard 
 from you yet." 
 
 " Think so ? I'm aviffully glad of that. You know, Rolfe, a 
 fellow like myself— decent family, public school, and that kind of 
 thing— naturally fights shy of shopkeeping. But I've got to the 
 point that I don't care what I do, if only it'll bring me a steady 
 income in an honest way. I ought to be able to make several 
 hundreds a year, even at starting, out of that business." 
 
204 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Have you spoken of it in the usual quarter ? " 
 
 " No, I haven't." Cecil's countenance fell. " I should if I 
 made a successful start. But I've talked of so many things, I'm 
 ashamed. And she mightn't quite understand ; perhaps she 
 would think I was going down — down " 
 
 " How is her father ? " 
 
 " Neither better nor worse. That man will take another ten 
 years over his dying— see if he doesn't. Well, we've got used to 
 it. We're neither of us young any longer ; we've lost the best 
 part of our lives. And all for what .' Because we hadn't money 
 enough to take a house three times bigger than we needed ! Two 
 lives wasted because we couldn't feed fifty other people for whom 
 we didn't care a damn ! Doesn't it come to that ? " 
 
 " No doubt. What does Denbow ask ? " 
 
 " For the stock, two hundred pounds ; shop-fittings, fifty ; 
 business as it stands, say three hundred. The rent is ninety-five. 
 Floor above the shop let to a family, W'ho pay twenty-four shillings 
 a week— a substantial set off against the rent ; but I should like 
 to get rid of the people, and use the whole house for business pur- 
 poses. There's three years of Denbow's lease to run, but this, he 
 says, the landlord would be willing to convert into a seven years' 
 lease to a new tenant. Then one must allow something for re- 
 pairs and so on at the fresh start. Well, with purchase of a little 
 new stock, say another hundred and fifty pounds. Roughly speak- 
 ing, I ought to have about five hundred pounds to settle the affair." 
 
 " And you have the money .' " 
 
 " Not quite ; I've got — well, I may say three hundred. I'm not 
 speaking of my own private income ; of course, that goes on as 
 usual and isn't a penny too much for — for ordinary expenses." 
 He fidgeted again. " Would you care to know how I made this 
 bit of capital ? " 
 
 "If you care to tell me." 
 
 " Yes, I will, just to show you what one is driven to do. Two 
 years ago I was ill— congestion of the lungs— felt sure I should 
 die. You were in Wales then. I sent for Tripcony, to get him 
 to make my will — he used to be a solicitor, you know, before he 
 started the bucket-shop. When I pulled through. Trip came one 
 day and said he had a job for me. You'll be careful, by-the-bye, 
 not to mention this. The job was to get the City editor of a cer- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 205 
 
 tain newspaper (a man I know very well) to print a damaging 
 rumour about a certain company. You'll wonder how I could 
 manage this. Well, simply because the son of the chairman of 
 that company was a sort of friend of mine, and the City editor 
 knew it. If I could get the paragraph inserted, Tripcony would — 
 not pay me anything, but give me a tip to buy certain stock which 
 he guaranteed would be rising. Well, I undertook the job, and I 
 succeeded, and Trip was as good as his word. I bought as much 
 as I dared — through Trip, mind you, and he wouldn't let me off the 
 cover, which I thought suspicious, though it was only habit of 
 business. I bought at 75, and on settling-day the quotation was 
 par. I wanted to go at it again, but Trip shook his head. Well, 
 I netted nearly five hundred. The most caddish affair I ever 
 was in ; but I wanted money. Stop, that's only half the story. 
 Just at that time I met a man who wanted to start a proprietary 
 club. He had the lease of a house near Golden Square, but not 
 quite money enough to furnish it properly and set the club going. 
 Well, I joined him, and put in four hundred pounds ; and for a 
 year and a half we didn't do badly. Then there was a smash ; 
 the police raided the place one night, and my partner went before 
 the magistrates. I trembled in my shoes, but my name was never 
 mentioned. It only ended in a fifty-pound fine, and of course I 
 went halves. Then we sold the club for two hundred, furniture 
 and all, and I fourid myself with — what I have now, not quite 
 three hundred." 
 
 " My boy, you've been going it," remarked Rolfe, with a 
 clouded brow. 
 
 " That's what I tell you. I want to get out of all that kind of 
 thing. Now, how am I to get two or three hundred honestly ? 
 I think Denbow would take less than he says for cash down. 
 But the stock, I guarantee, is worth two hundred." 
 
 " You have the first offer } " 
 
 " Till day after to-morrow — Monday." 
 
 " To-morrow's Sunday — that's awkward. Never mind. If I 
 come over in the morning, will you take me to the place, and let 
 me look over it with you, and see both Denbow and the shop- 
 man ? " ' 
 
 " Of course I will ! " said Morphew delightedly. " It's all above- 
 board. There's a devilish good business to be made : it depends 
 
2o6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 only on the man. Why, Denbow has made as much as two hun- 
 dred in a year out of printing for amateurs alone. It's his own 
 fault that he didn't keep it up. 1 swear, Rolfe, that with capital 
 and hard work and acuteness, that place can be made the establish- 
 ment of the kmd south of the Thames. Why, there's no reason 
 why one shouldn't net a thousand a year in a very short time." 
 
 •• Is Deabow willing to exhibit his books ? " 
 
 "Of course he is. I've seen them. It isn't speculative, you 
 know ; honest, straightforward business." 
 
 ■' What part do you propose to take in it yourself.?" 
 
 " Why, Denbow's part— without the betting. I shall go in for 
 the business for all I'm worth ; work day and night. And look 
 here, Rolfe. It isn't as if I had no security to offer. You see, I 
 have my private income ; that gives me a pull over the ordinary 
 man of business just starting. Suppose I borrow three— four— five 
 hundred pounds ; why, I can afford to make over stock or receipts 
 —anything in that way— to the lender. Four per cent., that's 
 what I offer, if it's a simple loan." 
 
 " You would keep the man— what's his name ? " 
 
 " Hobcraft. Decidedly. Couldn't do without him. He has 
 been having thirty-five shillings a week." 
 
 Harvey rose, and led the way to the smoking-room. His com- 
 panion had become a new man ; the glow of excitement gave him 
 a healthier look, and he talked more like the Cecil Morphew of 
 earlier days, whom Rolfe had found and befriended at the hotel 
 in Brussels. 
 
 " There's nothing to be ashamed of in a business of this kind. 
 If only her father was dead, I'm sure she wouldn't mind it. — Ah, 
 Rolfe, if only she and I, both of us, had had a little more courage ! 
 Do you know what I think ? It's the weak people that do most 
 harm in the world. They suffer, of course, but they make others 
 suffer as well. If I were X'^tyou — ah, if I were like yote/ " Har- 
 vey laughed. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 207 
 
 CHAPTER Vni 
 
 To Alma, on his return, he gave a full account of all he had 
 heard and done. The story of Hugh Carnaby's good fortune in- 
 terested her greatly. She elicited every detail of which Harvey 
 had been informed ; asked shrewd questions ; and yet had the air of 
 listening only for her amusement. 
 
 " Should you have thought Redgrave likely to do such a thing ? " 
 Rolfe inquired. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know him at all well. He has been a friend of 
 Sibyl's for a long time— so, of course " 
 
 Her voice dropped, but in a moment she was questionmg again. 
 
 " You say that Mr. Redgrave went to see him at Coventry ? " 
 
 " Yes. Redgrave must have heard he was there, from Sibyl, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " And that was two days ago ? " 
 
 " So Carnaby said— Why ? " 
 
 " Somebody — oh, I think it was Mrs. Rayner Mann, yesterday — 
 said Mr. Redgrave was in Paris." 
 
 Cecil Morphew's affairs had much less interest for her ; but 
 when Harvey said that he was going to town again to-morrow, to 
 look at the shop in Westminster Bridge Road, she regarded him 
 with an odd smile. 
 
 " You surely won't get mixed up in things of that kind ? " 
 
 " It might be profitable," he answered very quietly ; " and — one 
 doesn't care to lose any chance of that kind — just now " 
 
 He would not meet her eyes ; but Alma searched his face for 
 the meaning of these words, so evidently weighted. 
 
 " Are you at all uneasy, Harvey ? " 
 
 " Not a bit — not a bit," answered the weak man in him. " I 
 only meant that, if we are going to remove " 
 
 They sat for more than five minutes in silence. Alma's brain 
 was working very rapidly, as her features showed. When he 
 entered she looked rather sleepy ; now she was thrilling with 
 vivid consciousness ; one would have thought her absorbed in the 
 solution of some exciting problem. Her next words came unex- 
 pectedly. 
 
2o8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Harvey, if you mean what you say about letting me follow my 
 own instincts, I think I shall decide to try my fortune— to give a 
 public recital." 
 
 He glanced at her, but did not answer. 
 
 •' We made a sort of bargain— didn't we .' " she went on, quickly, 
 nervously, with an endeavour to strike the playful note. " Hughie 
 shall go to Mrs. Abbott's, and I will attend to what you said about 
 the choice of acquaintances." 
 
 " But surely neither of those things can be a subject of bargain- 
 ing between us ? Isn't your interest in both at least equal to my 
 own .'' " 
 
 " Yes— I know— of course. It was only a joking way of putting 
 it." 
 
 "Tell me plainly "—he looked at her now — "have you the 
 slightest objection, on any ground, to Hughie 's being taught by 
 Mrs. Abbott ? If so, do let us clear it up." 
 
 " Dear, I have not a shadow of objection," replied Alma, 
 straightening herself a little, and answering his gaze with exces- 
 sive frankness. " How could I have ? You think Mrs. Abbott 
 will teach him much better than I could, and in that you are quite 
 right. I have no talent for teaching. I haven't much patience — 
 except in music. It's better every way, that he should go to Mrs. 
 Abbott. I feel perfect confidence in her, and I shouldn't be able 
 to in a mere stranger." 
 
 Harvey gave a slow nod, and appeared to have something more 
 of importance to say ; but he only asked how the child's cold had 
 been to-night. Alma replied that it was neither better nor worse ; 
 she spoke absently. 
 
 " On whose encouragement do you principally rely ? " was Rolfe's 
 next question. 
 
 " On that of twenty people ! " 
 
 " i said ' principally.' " 
 
 " Herr Wilenski has often praised me ; and he doesn't throw his 
 praise away. And you yourself, Harvey, didn't you say last night 
 that I was undoubtedly as good as most professionals ? " 
 
 " I don't think I used quite those words ; and, to tell you the 
 truth, it had never entered my head that you would take them for 
 encouragement to such a step as this." 
 
 Alma bent towards him, smiling. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 209 
 
 " I understand. You don't think me good enough. Now the 
 truth, the truth ! " and she held up a finger^which she could not 
 succeed in keeping steady. 
 
 " Yes, you shall have the truth. It's too serious a matter for 
 making pretences. My own judgment is worthless, utterly ; it 
 should neither offend nor encourage you. But it's very plain to 
 me that you shouldn't dream of coming before the public unless 
 Wilenski, and perhaps some one else of equal or better standing, 
 actually urges you to it. Now, has he done anything like that ? " 
 
 She reddened, and hardly tried to conceal her vexation. 
 
 " This only means, Harvey, that you don't want me to come 
 out.'' 
 
 " Come now, be more reasonable. It does not only mean that ; 
 in fact, I can say honestly it doesn't mean that at all. If Wilenski 
 tells you plainly that you ought to become a professional violinist, 
 there's no one will wish you luck half so heartily as I. But if it's 
 only the encouragement of ' twenty people' — that means nothing. 
 I'm speaking simply as the best friend you have. Don't run the 
 risk of a horrible disappointment. I know you wouldn't find that 
 easy to bear — it would be bad for you, in every way." 
 
 Impelled by annoyance— for the project seemed to him delusive, 
 and his sense of dignity rose against it — Harvey had begun with 
 unwonted decision, but he was soon uncomfortably self-conscious 
 and self-critical; he spoke with effort, vainly struggling against 
 that peculiar force of Alma's personality which had long ago sub- 
 dued him. When he looked at her, saw her distant smile, her 
 pose of the head as in one who mildly rebukes presumption, he 
 was overcome with a feeling of solemn ineptitude. Quite unaware 
 that his last sentence was to Alma the most impressive— the only 
 impressive— part of his counsel, suddenly he broke off, and found 
 relief in unexpected laughter. 
 
 " There now, I've done my duty— I've discharged the pedagogue. 
 Get rid of your tragic mask. Be yourself ; do as you wish. When 
 the time comes, just tell me what you have decided." 
 
 So, once more, did he oust common-sense with what he ima- 
 gined a riper wisdom. One must not take things funereally. Face 
 to face with a woman in the prime of her beauty, he heard a voice 
 warning him against the pedantic spirit of middle age, against for- 
 malism and fogeyishness. 
 
2IO THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Now I know you again," said Alma, softening, but still re- 
 served ; for she did not forget that he had thrown doubt upon her 
 claims as an artist — an incident which would not lose its impor- 
 tance as she pondered it at leisure. 
 
 Harvey sat late. On going upstairs, instead of straightway 
 entering his own room, he passed it with soft step and paused by 
 another door, that of the chamber in which Hughie slept under the 
 care of Miss Smith. The child had coughed in the night during 
 this last week. But at present all was quiet, and with comfort- 
 able reassurance the father went to rest. 
 
 Alma had matters to occupy her more important than a child's 
 passing ailment. As she slowly unrobed herself by the fire, 
 combed out her warm, fragrant, many-rippled tresses, or held mute 
 dialogue with her eyes in the glass, from a ravel of uneasy thoughts 
 there detached itself, first and foremost, the discovery that Red- 
 grave had not been in Paris when Mrs. Strangeways said he was. 
 What was the meaning of this contradiction ? Thereto hung the 
 singular coincidence of Redgrave's return home exactly at the 
 time when she and Mrs. Strangeways happened to be there. She 
 had thought of it as a coincidence and nothing more ; but if Red- 
 grave had deceived Mrs. Strangeways as to his movements, the 
 unlooked-for arrival took a suspicious significance. There re- 
 mained a dark possibility : that Mrs. Strangeways knew what was 
 about to happen. Yet this seemed inconceivable. 
 
 Was it inconceivable ? Why should a woman of that age, and 
 of so much experience, feel nervous about going alone to her 
 friend's house on such a simple mission ? It appeared odd at the 
 time, and was more difficult to understand the more she thought 
 of it. And one heard such strange stories — in society of a certain 
 kind — so many whispered hints of things that would not bear to 
 be talked about. 
 
 Redgrave had not been in Paris, but at Coventry. There again 
 was a puzzling circumstance. Harvey himself declared his sur- 
 prise at hearing that Redgrave had entered into partnership with 
 Hugh Carnaby. Had Sibyl anything to do with this ? Could she 
 have hinted to her friend the millionaire that her husband's finan- 
 cial position was anything but satisfactory, and had Redgrave, out 
 of pure friendship — of course, out of pure friendship — hastened to 
 their succour.'' 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 211 
 
 This perplexity was almost as disturbing as that which preceded 
 it. Knowing the man of money as she did, Alma found it dis- 
 agreeable to connect his name thus closely with Sibyl's. Disagree- 
 able in a complicated sense ; for she had begun to think of Cyrus 
 Redgrave as intimately associated with her own ambitions, secret 
 and avowed. He was to aid her in winning fame as a violinist ; 
 and, to this end, all possible use (within certain limits) was to be 
 made of the power she had over him. Alma viewed the position 
 without the least attempt at disguising its true nature. She was 
 playing with fire ; knew it ; enjoyed the excitement of it ; trusted 
 herself with the completest confidence to come out of the game 
 unscorched. But she felt assured that other women, in similar 
 circumstances, had engaged in much the same encounter with 
 Cyrus Redgrave ; and could it be imagined that Sibyl Carnaby 
 was one of them— Sibyl, the woman of culture, of high principle, 
 the critic of society — Sibyl, to whom she had so long paid homage, 
 as to one of the chosen of her sex ? That Redgrave might ap- 
 proach Sibyl with lawless thought, she could well believe, and such 
 a possibility excited her indignation ; that Sibyl would meet him 
 on his own terms, she could not for a moment have credited, but 
 for a traitor-voice that spoke in her for the first time, the voice of 
 jealousy. 
 
 Where and how often did they meet ? To ask this question 
 was to touch another motive of discontent. Ever since the return 
 to London life. Alma had felt dissatisfied with her social position. 
 She was the wife of a gentleman of independent means ; in theory, 
 all circles should be open to her. Practically, she found herself 
 very much restricted in the choice of acquaintances. Harvey had 
 hinted that she should be careful where she went, and whom she 
 knew; that she recognised the justice of this warning served 
 merely to irritate her against its necessity. Why, then, did not 
 her husband exert himself to'obtain better society for her ? Plainly, 
 he would never take a step in that direction ; he had his two or 
 three friends, and found them sufficient ; he would have liked to 
 see her very intimate with Mrs. Abbott — perhaps helping to teach 
 babies on the kindergarten system ! Left to her own resources, 
 she could do little beyond refusing connections that were mani- 
 festly undesirable. Sibyl, she knew, associated with people of 
 much higher standing, only out of curiosity taking a peep at the 
 
212 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 world to which her friend was restricted. There had always been 
 a slight disparity in this respect between them, and in former days 
 Alma had accepted it without murmuring ; but why did Sibyl, just 
 when she could have been socially helpful, show a disposition to 
 hold aloof ? " Of course, you care nothing for people of that 
 kind," Mrs. Carnaby had said, after casually mentioning some 
 " good " family at whose country house she had been visiting. It 
 was intended, perhaps, as a compliment, with allusion to Alma's 
 theories of the " simple life "; but, in face of the very plain fact 
 that such theories were utterly abandoned, it sounded to Alma a 
 humiliating irony. 
 
 Could it be that Sibyl feared inquiries, shrank from having it 
 known that she was on intimate terms with the daughter of the 
 late Bennet Frothingham — a name still too often mentioned in 
 newspapers and elsewhere.' The shadow of this possibility had 
 ere now flitted over Alma's mind ; she was in the mood to estab- 
 lish it as a certainty, and to indulge the resentment that naturally 
 ensued. For on more than one occasion of late, at Mrs. Rayner 
 Mann's or in some such house, she had fancied that one person and 
 another had eyed her in a way that was not quite flattering, and 
 that remarks were privately exchanged about her. Perhaps Har- 
 vey himself saw in the fact of her parentage a social obstacle, 
 which made him disinclined to extend their circle of common ac- 
 quaintances. Was that what he meant by his grave air this even- 
 ing ? Was he annoyed at the thought of a publicity which would 
 reveal her maiden name ? 
 
 These currents of troubled feeling streamed together and bore 
 her turbidly onwards whither her desires pointed. In one way, 
 and one way only, could she hope to become triumphantly con- 
 spicuous, to raise herself quite above petty social prejudices, to 
 defeat ill-wishers and put to shame faint-hearted friends. She 
 had never been able to endure the thought of mediocrity. One 
 chance there was ; she must grasp it energetically and without 
 delay. And she must make use of all subsidiary means to her 
 great conquest — save only the last dishonour. 
 
 That on her own merit she might rise to the first rank of musi- 
 cians. Alma did not doubt. Her difficulty lay in the thought that 
 it might require a long time, a wearisome struggle, to gain the 
 universal recognition which alone would satisfy her. Therefore 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 213 
 
 must Cyrus Redgrave be brought to the exertion of all his influ- 
 ence, which she imagined would assist her greatly. Therefore, too, 
 must Felix Dymes be retained as her warm friend, probably (his 
 own suggestion) as her man of business. 
 
 It was January. Her " recital " must take place in the coming 
 season, in May or June. She would sketch a programme at once 
 — to-morrow morning — and then work, work, work terrifically ! 
 
 Saved by the fervour of this determination from brooding over 
 mysteries and jealousies. Alma lay down with a contented sigh, and 
 was soon asleep, thanks to the health she still enjoyed. Her ex- 
 citability was of the imagination rather than of the blood, and the 
 cool, lymphatic flow, characteristically feminine, which mingled 
 with the sanguine humour, traceable perhaps to a paternal source, 
 spared her many an hour of wakefulness, as it guarded her against 
 much graver peril. 
 
 On Sunday morning she generally went to church — not because 
 of any spiritual impulse, but out of habit. In Wales, Harvey often 
 accompanied her ; at Pinner he ceased to do so ; but neither then 
 nor now had any talk on the subject passed between them. Alma 
 took it for granted that her husband was very " broad " in matters 
 of faith. She gathered from her reading that every man of educa- 
 tion nowadays dispensed with dogmas, and, for her own part, it 
 was merely an accident that she had not sought to attract attention 
 by pronounced freethinking. Sibyl Carnaby went to church as a 
 matter of course, and never spoke for or against orthodoxy. Had 
 Sibyl been more " advanced " in this direction, undoubtedly Alma 
 would long ago have followed her example. Both of them, in 
 girlhood, had passed through a great deal of direct religious teach- 
 ing—and both would have shrunk amazed if called upon to make 
 the slightest sacrifice in the name of their presumed creed. 
 
 This morning, however. Alma remained at home, and one of 
 the first things she did was to write to Sibyl, asking when it would 
 be convenient for her friend to give her half-an-hour's private 
 talk. Then she wrote to Felix Dymes, addressing the letter to the 
 care of his publishers. At mid-day, as Harvey had gone to town 
 on his business with Cecil Morphew, she decided to run over to 
 Kingsbury-Neasden and ask her friends for lunch, in return for 
 which she would make known to them her startling project. It 
 was a wretched day ; Hughie must not go out, and Pauline— good 
 
214 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 creature — would amuse him in one way and another all the after- 
 noon. 
 
 As it chanced, her surprise visit could not have been worse timed, 
 for Mrs. Leach was in a state of collapse after a violent quarrel, the 
 day before, with her cook-housekeeper, who quitted the house at a 
 moment's notice. Luncheon, in the admissible sense of the word, 
 there was none to be had. Mr. Leach, finding the house intoler- 
 able when he arrived on Saturday afternoon, had gone back to his 
 bachelor quarters, and the girls, when Alma presented herself, were 
 just sitting down alone to what the housemaid chose to give them. 
 But such an old friend could not be turned away because of do- 
 mestic mishap. 
 
 Not until they had despatched the unsatisfactory meal, and were 
 cosy in the drawing-room, did Alma reveal her great purpose. 
 Dora Leach happened to have a slight acquaintance with a pro- 
 fessional pianist who had recently come before the public, and 
 Alma began by inquiring whether her friend could obtain infor- 
 mation as to the expenses of the first " recital " given by that lady. 
 
 " I'm afraid 1 don't know her quite well enough," replied Miss 
 Leach. "What's it for? Are you thinking—? Really? You 
 really are ? ' ' 
 
 The sisters became joyously excited. Splendid idea ! They 
 had feared it was impossible. Oh, she might count with certainty 
 upon a brilliant success ! They began to talk about the programme. 
 And what professionals would she engage to take part in the con- 
 cert ? When Alma mentioned that the illustrious Felix Dymes 
 had offered to undertake the management of her business, interest 
 rose to the highest point. Felix Dymes would of course be a tower 
 of strength. Though tempted to speak of the support she might 
 expect from another great man, Alma refrained ; her reason being 
 that she meant to ask Dora to accompany her to the Crystal Palace 
 next Saturday. If, as was almost certain, Redgrave met them 
 there, it would be unpleasant to let Dora surmise that the meeting 
 was not by chance. 
 
 They chattered for two or three hours, and, among other things, 
 made merry over a girl of their acquaintance (struggling with fla- 
 grant poverty), who aimed at a professional career. 
 
 " It really would be kindness," said Dora, " to tell her she hasn't 
 the least chance ; but one can't do that. She was here the other 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 215 
 
 day playing to us— oh, for such a time ! She said her bow would 
 have to be rehaired, and when I looked at it, I saw it was all greasy 
 and black near the frog, from her dirty fingers ; it only wanted 
 washing. I just managed to edge in a hint about soap and water. 
 But she's very touchy ; one has to be so careful with her." 
 
 " It's dreadfully awkward, you know,'' put in Gerda, " to talk to 
 people who are so poor — isn't it ? It came out one day that she 
 had been peeling potatoes for their dinner ! It makes one so un- 
 comfortable — she really need not have mentioned it.'' 
 
 The public halls were discussed. Which would Alma select ? 
 Then again the programme. Would she play the Adagio ?— 
 meaning, of course, that in Spohr's Concerto 9. No, no ; not the 
 Adagio— not on any account the Adagio ! Something of Bach's .? 
 — yes ; perhaps the Chaconne. And Brahms ? There was the 
 Sonata in A for violin and piano. A stiff piece, but one must not 
 be too popular — Heaven forbid that one should catch at cheap ap- 
 plause I How about a trio 1 What was that thing of Dvorak's, at 
 St. James's Hall not long ago ? Yes, the trio in B flat — piano, 
 violin, and 'cello. At least a score of pieces were jotted down, 
 some from memory, some picked out of old programmes, of which 
 Dora produced a great portfolio. Interruption came at length— 
 a servant entering to say that Mrs. Leach felt so ill, she wished the 
 doctor to be summoned. 
 
 " Oh, bother mamma and her illnesses ! " exclaimed the vivacious 
 Gerda when the intruder was waved off. " It's all nonsense, you 
 know. She will quarrel with servants and get herself into a state. 
 It'll have to be a boarding-house ; I see it coming nearer every 
 day." 
 
 Having made an appointment with Dora for next Saturday, 
 Alma took leave, and went home in excellent spirits. Everything 
 seemed to plan itself ; the time had come, the moment of destiny. 
 Doubtless she had been wise in waiting thus long. Had she come 
 forward only a year or so after her father's tragedy, people might 
 have said she was making profit of a vulgar sensation ; it would 
 have seemed in bad taste ; necessity would have appeared to urge 
 her. Now, such remarks were impossible. Mrs. Harvey Rolfe 
 sounded much better than Miss Alma Frothingham. By-the-bye, 
 was it to be " Mrs.,'' or ought she to call herself " Madame " ? 
 People did use the Madame, even with an English name. Ma- 
 
2i6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 dame Rolfe ? Madame Harvey Rolfe ? That made her laugh ; 
 it had a touch of the ridiculous ; it suggested millinery rather than 
 music. Better to reject such silly affectations and use her proper 
 name boldly. 
 
 It was to be expected, of course, that people in general would 
 soon discover her maiden name. Whispers would go round ; 
 facts might even get into the newspapers. Well ? She herself 
 had done nothing to be ashamed of, and if curiosity helped her to 
 success, why, so much the better. In all likelihood it would help 
 her ; but she did not dwell upon this adventitious encouragement. 
 A more legitimate source of hope revealed itself in Mrs. Strange- 
 ways' allusion to her personal advantages. She was not ill-looking ; 
 on that point there needed no flatterer's assurance. Her looks, if 
 anything, had improved, and possibly she owed something to her 
 experiment in "simplicity," to the air of mountain and of sea. 
 Felix Dymes, Cyrus Redgrave, not to speak of certain other people 
 — no matter. For all that, she must pay grave attention to the 
 subject of dress. Her recital would doubtless be given in the af- 
 ternoon, according to custom ; so that it was not a case oi grande 
 temce ; but her attire must be nothing short of perfection in its 
 kind. Could she speak about it with Sibyl } Perhaps — yet per- 
 haps not. She was very anxious to see Sibyl, and felt that a great 
 deal depended upon their coming interview. 
 
 This took place on Tuesday ; for Sibyl replied at once to the 
 note, and begged her to come without delay. " Tuesday at twelve. 
 I do little in these gloomy days but read — am becoming quite a 
 bookworm. Why have you been silent so long? I was on the 
 very point of writing to you, for I wish to see you particularly." 
 
 And, when the servant opened her door, Sibyl was discovered 
 in the attitude of a severe student, bending over a table on which 
 lay many volumes. She would not have been herself had there 
 appeared any neglect or unbecomingness in her costume, but she 
 wore the least pretentious of morning gowns, close at throat and 
 wrist, which aided her look of mental concentration and alertness. 
 She rose with alacrity, and the visitor, using her utmost keenness 
 in scrutiny of countenance, found that her own eyes, not Sibyl's, 
 were the first to fall. 
 
 " Yes — working;" as if I had an examination to pass. It's the 
 best thing in weather such as this — keeps one in health, I believe. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 217 
 
 You, of course, have your music, which answers the same purpose. 
 I'm going in for the Renaissance : always wished to make a thorough 
 study of it. Hugh is appalled ; he never imagined I had so much 
 energy. He says I shall be writing a book next — and why not ? " 
 
 " Of course you could," replied Alma. " You're clever enough 
 for anything." 
 
 Her suspicions evaporated in this cosy cloister. She wondered 
 how she could have conceived such a thought of Sibyl, who, 
 dressed so simply, had a girlish air, a beauty as of maidenhood. 
 Exhilarated by her ambitious hopes, she turned in heart to the old 
 friendship, felt her admiration revive, and spoke it freely. 
 
 " I know I'm not stupid," said Sibyl, leaning back as if a little 
 weary ; "and there's the pity of it, that I've never made more use 
 of my brains. Of course, those years abroad were lost, though I 
 suppose I got to know a little more of the world. And since we 
 came back I have had no peace of mind. Did you guess that ? 
 Perhaps your husband knew about things from Hugh ? " 
 
 " I was afraid you might *be getting rather anxious ; but as you 
 never said anything yourself " 
 
 " I never should have done — I hate talking about money. And 
 you know that things are looking better ? " 
 
 Sibyl's confident smile drew one of like meaning from Alma. 
 
 " Your husband had good news, I know, when Harvey met him 
 on Saturday." 
 
 " It sounds good," said Sibyl, " and I take it for granted it will 
 be as good as it sounds. If that's complicated, well, so is business, 
 and I don't profess to understand the details. I can only say that 
 Hugh seems to be a good deal shrewder and more practical than 
 I thought him. He is always making friends with what I consider 
 the wrong kind of people ; now at last he has got hold of just the 
 right man, and it very much puzzles me how he did it. I have 
 known Mr. Redgrave— you've heard it's Mr. Redgrave ?— I've 
 known him for several years now, and, between ourselves, I never 
 expected to benefit by the acquaintance." 
 
 Her laugh was so significant that Alma had much ado to keep a 
 steady face. 
 
 " I know — things are said about him," she murmured. 
 
 " Things are said about him, as you discreetly put it, my dear 
 Alma." The voice still rippled with laughter. " I should imagine 
 
2i8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Hugh has heard them, but I suppose a man of the world thinks 
 nothing of such trifles. And after all " — she grew serious — " I 
 would rather trust Hugh's judgment than general gossip. Hugh 
 thinks him a 'very good fellow.' They were together a little in 
 Scotland last autumn, you know, and — it's very wrong to make 
 fun of it, and I shouldn't repeat the story to any one but you — Mr. 
 Redgrave confided to him that he was a blighted being, the victim 
 of an unhappy love in early life. Can you quite picture it .'' " 
 
 " It has an odd sound," replied Alma, struggling with rather 
 tense nerves, " Do you believe the story.' " 
 
 " I can't see why in the world such a man should invent it. It 
 seems he wanted to marry some one who preferred some one else ; 
 and since then he has '' 
 
 Sibyl rippled off again. 
 
 " He has — what? " 
 
 " Been blighted, my dear ! Of course, people have different 
 ways of showing blight. Mr. Redgrave, it is rumoured, hides his 
 head in a hermitage, somewhere in the north of Italy, by one of 
 the lakes. No doubt he lives on olives and macaroni, and broods 
 over what nught have been. Did you ever hear of that hermi- 
 tage ? " 
 
 Alma's colour heightened ever so little, and she kept her eyes 
 on the questioner with involuntary fixedness. The last shadow of 
 doubt regarding Sibyl having disappeared (no woman with an un- 
 easy conscience, she said to herself, could talk in this way), she 
 had now to guard herself against the betrayal of suspicious sensi- 
 bilities. Sibyl, of course, meant nothing personal by these jesting 
 allusions — how could she .'' But it was with a hard voice that 
 Alma declared her ignorance of Mr. Redgrave's habits, at home, 
 or in retreat by Italian lakes. 
 
 " It doesn't concern us,'' agreed her friend. " He has chosen 
 to put his money into Hugh's business, and, from one point of 
 view, that's a virtuous action. Hugh says he didn't suggest any- 
 thing of the kind, but I fancy the idea must have been led up to at 
 some time or other. The poor fellow has been horridly worried, 
 and perhaps he let fall a word or two he doesn't care to confess. 
 However it came about, I'm immensely glad, both for his sake 
 and my own. My mind is enormously relieved — and that's how I 
 come to be working at the Renaissance." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 219 
 
 Alma took the first opportunity of giving tiie conversation a 
 turn. It was not so easy as she had anticipated to malce her 
 announcement ; for, to her own mind, Cyrus Redgrave and the 
 great ambition ■were at every moment suggestive of each other, 
 and Sibyl, in this peculiar mood, might throw out disturbing 
 remarks or ask unwelcome questions. Only one recent occur- 
 rence called for concealment. Happily, Sibyl no longer met Mrs. 
 Strangeways (whose character had taken such a doubtful hue), 
 and Redgrave himself could assuredly be trusted for discretion, 
 whatever his real part in that perplexing scene at the bungalow. 
 
 " I feel the same want as you do," said Alma, after a little 
 transitional talk, " of something to keep me busy. Of course, it 
 must be music ; but music at home, and at other people's homes, 
 isn't enough. You know my old revolt against the bonds of the 
 amateur. I'm going to break out — or try to. What would you 
 give for my chances .' " 
 
 " My dear, I am no capitalist," replied her friend, with anima- 
 tion. " For such a bargain as that you must go among the great 
 speculators. Hugh's experience seems to point to Mr. Red- 
 grave." 
 
 " Sibyl, please be serious." 
 
 " So I am. I should like to have the purchase of your chances 
 for a trifle of a few thousand pounds. 
 
 Alma's flush of discomposure (more traitorous than she ima- 
 gined) transformed itself under a gratified smile. 
 
 " You really think that I might do something worth the trouble ? 
 — I don't mean money-making — though, of course, no one despises 
 money — ^but a real artistic success ? " 
 
 Sibyl made no half-hearted reply. She seemed in thorough 
 agreement with those other friends of Alma's who had received 
 the project enthusiastically. A dozen tickets, at least a dozen, 
 she would at once answer for. But, as though an unwelcome 
 word must needs mingle with her pleasantest talk to-day, she 
 went on to speak of Alma's husband ; what did he think of the 
 idea? 
 
 "He looks on, that's all," Alma replied playfully. "If I suc- 
 ceed, he will be pleased ; if I don't, he will have plenty of conso- 
 lation to offer. Harvey and I respect each other's independence— 
 the great secret of marriage, don't you think ? We ask each 
 
220 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 other's advice, and take it or not, as we choose. I fancy he 
 doesn't quite like the thought of my playing for money. But if it 
 were necessary he would like it still less. He finds consolation in 
 the thought that I'm just amusing myself." 
 
 " I wish you would both come over and dine with us quietly,'' 
 said Sibyl, after reflecting, with a smile. " It would do us all 
 good. I don't see many people nowadays, and I'm getting rather 
 tired of ordinary society ; after all, it's great waste of time. I 
 think Hugh is more inclined to settle down and be quiet among 
 his friends. 'What day would suit you ? " 
 
 Alma, engrossed in other thoughts, named a day at random. 
 Part of her scheme was still undisclosed : she had a special reason 
 for wishing Sibyl to know of her relations with Felix Dymes, yet 
 feared that she might not hit exactly the right tone in speaking of 
 him. 
 
 " Of course, I must have a man of business — and who do you 
 think has offered his services ? " 
 
 Sibyl was not particularly impressed by the mention of Dymes's 
 name ; she had only a slight personal acquaintance with him, and 
 cared little for his reputation as a composer. 
 
 " I had a note from him this morning," Alma continued. "He 
 asks me to see him to-day at the Apollo — the theatre, you know. 
 They're going to produce his comic opera, ' Blue Roses ' — of 
 course, you've heard of it. I shall feelrather nervous about going 
 there — but it'll be a new experience. Or do you think it would be 
 more discreet if I got him to come to Pinner .' " 
 
 " I didn't think artists cared about those small proprieties," 
 answered Sibyl, laughing. 
 
 " No— of course, that's the right way to regard it. Let me 
 show you his letter." She took it from her little seal-skin bag. 
 "A trifle impudent, don't you think? Mr. Dymes has a great 
 opinion of himself, and absolutely no manners." 
 
 " Well — if you can keep him in hand " 
 
 They exchanged glances, and laughed together. 
 
 " No fear of that," said Alma. " And he's just the kind of man 
 to be very useful. His music — ah well ! But he has popularity, 
 and a great many people take him at his own estimate. Impu- 
 dence does go a long way.'' 
 
 Sibyl nodded, and smiled vaguely. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 221 
 
 Dymes had suggested a meeting at three o'clock, and to this 
 Alma had already given her assent by telegraph. She lunched 
 with Mrs. Carnaby,— who talked a great deal about the Renais- 
 sance, — left immediately after, to visit a few shops, and drove up 
 to the Apollo Theatre at the appointed time. Her name sufficed ; 
 at once she was respectfully conducted to a small electric-lighted 
 room, furnished only with a table and chairs, and hung about with 
 portraits of theatrical people, where Dymes sat by the fire smoking 
 a cigarette. The illustrious man apologised for receiving her 
 here, instead of in the manager's room, which he had hoped to 
 make use of. 
 
 " Littlestone is in there, wrangling about something with Sophy 
 Challis, and they're likely to slang each other for an hour or two. 
 Make yourself comfortable. It's rather hot ; take off those furry 
 things." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Alma, concealing her nervousness with 
 malapert vivacity, " I shall be quite comfortable in my own way. 
 It is rather hot, and your smoke is rather thick, so I shall leave the 
 door a little open." 
 
 Dymes showed his annoyance, but could offer no objection. 
 
 " We're getting into shape for this day week. Littlestone calls 
 the opera ' Blue Noses ' — it has been so confoundedly cold at 
 rehearsals." 
 
 Alma was seized by the ludicrous suggestion, and laughed with- 
 out restraint ; her companion joined in, his loud neigh drowning 
 her more melodious merriment. This put them on natural terms 
 of comradeship, and then followed a long, animated talk. Dymes 
 was of opinion that the hiring of a hall and the fees of supplemen- 
 tary musicians might be defrayed out of the sale of tickets ; but 
 there remained the item of advertisement, and on this subject he 
 had large ideas. He wanted " to do the thing properly " ; other- 
 wise he wouldn't do it at all. But Alma was to take no thought 
 for the cost ; let it all be left to him. 
 
 " You want to succeed .'' All right ; let your fiddling be up to 
 the mark, and I answer for the public. It's all between you and 
 me ; you needn't say who is doing the job for you. Ada Welling- 
 ton comes off on May the loth ; I shall put you down for a fort- 
 night later. That gives you nearly four months to prepare. Don't 
 overdo it ; keep right in health ; take plenty of exercise. You 
 
222 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 look very well now ; keep it up, and you'll knock 'cm. I only 
 wish it was the stage instead of the platform— but no use talking 
 about that, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No use whatever," Alma replied, flushing with various 
 emotions. 
 
 In the course of his free talk, it happened that he addressed her 
 as " Alma." She did not check him ; but when the name again 
 fell from his lips, she said quietly, with a straight look — 
 
 " I think not. The proper name, if you please." 
 
 Dymes took the rebuke good-humouredly. When their conver- 
 sation was over, he wished her to go with him to a restaurant for 
 tea ; but Alma insisted on catching a certain train at Baker Street 
 and Dymes had to be satisfied with the promise of another inter- 
 view shortly. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A VISIT was due from Mrs. Frothingham, who had not been 
 seen at Pinner for more than six months. She would have come 
 at New Year, but an attack of influenza upset her plans. Now 
 she wrote to announce her arrival on Saturday. 
 
 " I wish it had been Monday," said Alma ; " I have to go to the 
 Crystal Palace." 
 
 " Is it imperative ? " asked her husband. 
 
 "Yes; there's something new of Sterndale Bennett's and I've 
 asked Dora." 
 
 It seemed to Harvey that this arrangement might have been put 
 aside without great inconvenience, but, as usual, he made no com- 
 ment. As he would be in town on Saturday, he promised to meet 
 their visitor at Waterloo. Alma, he thought, had never shown 
 much gratitude for her step-mother's constant kindness ; during 
 the past half year she had now and then complained of the trouble 
 of answering Mrs. Frothingham 's letters, and the news of illness 
 at Basingstoke drew from her only a few words of conventional 
 sympathy. To Hughie, who frequently received presents from 
 "grandmamma," she rarely spoke of the affectionate giver. A 
 remark of hers recently on some piece of news from Mrs. Froth- 
 ingham bore an obvious suggestion. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 223 
 
 " I wonder," she said, "if a single person has been really bene- 
 fited by all the money mamma has given away ? Isn't it likely she 
 has done much more harm than good ? " 
 
 There was truth in his surmise that Alma sometimes thought 
 with jealousy of Mrs. Frothingham's having had control of a for- 
 tune, whilst she, the only child of him who made the money, pos- 
 sessed nothing of her own. The same trend of feeling appeared 
 in a word or two of Alma's, when a daily paper, in speaking of a 
 paltry dividend offered at last to the creditors in one branch of 
 Bennet Frothingham's speculations, used a particularly bitter 
 phrase. 
 
 " I should have felt that once; now " 
 
 In these days Alma suffered from a revival of the indignation 
 which had so perturbed her in the time just before her marriage. 
 If now she had possessed even a litde money, it would have made 
 her independent in a sense far more tangible than that of the 
 friendly understanding with her husband. She strongly disliked 
 the thought of making Harvey responsible for the expenses of her 
 " recital." Had it been possible to procure a small sum by any 
 honest means, she would eagerly have turned to it ; but no method 
 seemed discoverable. On her journey homeward after the inter- 
 view with Felix Dymes, her mind was full of the money question. 
 What did Dymes mean by bidding her take no thought for ex- 
 penses ? Could it have occurred to his outrageous vanity that she 
 might be persuaded to become his debtor, with implied obligation 
 of gratitude ? 
 
 Not with impunity could her thought accustom itself to stray in 
 regions forbidden, how firm soever her resolve to hold bodily aloof. 
 Alma's imagination was beginning to show the inevitable taint. 
 With Cyrus Redgrave she had passed from disdainful resentment, 
 through phases of tolerance, to an interested flirtation, perilous 
 on every side. In Felix Dymes she easily, perhaps not unwillingly, 
 detected a motive like to Redgrave's, and already, for her own pur- 
 poses, she was permitting- him to regard her as a woman not too 
 sensitive, not too scrupulous. These tactics might not be pleasant 
 or strictly honourable, but she fancied they were forced upon her. 
 Alma had begun to compassionate herself — a dangerous situation. 
 Her battle had to be fought alone ; she was going forth to conquer 
 the world by her mere talents, and can a woman disregard the 
 
224 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 auxiliary weapons of beauty? If Dymes chose to speculate in 
 hopes ludicrously phantasmal, was that her affair ? She smiled at 
 the picture of two men, her devoted servants, exerting themselves 
 to the utmost for her advantage, yet without a syllable of express 
 encouragement, and foredoomed to a disappointment which would 
 be perfectly plain to them could they but use their common-sense. 
 
 Throughout this week Harvey did not behave quite as usual to 
 her ; or so Alma thought. He had not the customary jocoseness 
 when they met at the close of day ; he asked no questions about 
 how she had spent her time ; his manner was preoccupied. One 
 evening she challenged him. 
 
 " You are worrying about what you think my foolishness." 
 
 " Foolishness ? Of what folly are you guilty ? " 
 
 " My ambition, then.'' 
 
 " Oh, no ! " He laughed as if the thought genuinely amused 
 him. "Why should I worry about it? Don't work too hard, 
 that's all. No, I was thinking of a squalid little ambition of my 
 own. I have an idea Morphew may make something of that 
 business ; and I want him to, for the fellow's own good. It's 
 wonderful how near he has been to going to the devil, once for 
 all. I fancy I've got him now by the coat-tail ; I may hold him." 
 
 " You can't call that a squahd ambition," said Alma, wishing to 
 be amiable. 
 
 " Not that side of it — no. But I've decided to put a little money 
 into the business — nothing that matters, but it may just as well be 
 made safe, if a little trouble will do it. I was wondering how it 
 would be if I worked a little down yonder — kept Morphew in 
 sight. Distance is the chief objection." 
 
 " But you think of moving to Gunnersbury ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do. I'm thinking of it seriously. Will you go over 
 with me one day next week ? Better be Saturday — Mrs. Abbott 
 will be free.'' 
 
 It was unfortunate that Alma had not been able to establish an 
 intimacy with Mary Abbott. They saw each other very rarely, 
 and, as Harvey perceived, made no progress in friendship. This 
 did not surprise him ; they were too unlike in temper, intellect, 
 and circumstances. Whether to these obstacles should be added 
 another more serious, Harvey could not quite assure himself. He 
 had suspected that Alma entertained a slight jealousy — natural, per- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 225 
 
 haps, though utterly without substantial cause. He even reckoned 
 with this when proposing to put the child under Mrs. Abbott's 
 care, thinking that, in revolt against such an alternative, Alma 
 might be impelled to take the duty upon herself. That nothing 
 of the kind had resulted, seemed to prove that, whatever feeling 
 might occasionally have arisen in Alma, she did not regard his 
 friend with any approach to hostility. For his own part, he had 
 always felt that the memory of Bennet Frothingham must needs 
 forbid Mrs. Abbott to think with unrestrained kindliness of Alma, 
 and, but for Alma herself, he would scarce have ventured to bring 
 them together. That they were at least on amiable terms must be 
 held as much as could be hoped for. With regard to Mary's effi- 
 ciency as a teacher, his opinion had grown more favourable since 
 he had seen her in her own home. Time and experience were 
 moulding her, he thought, to a task undertaken first of all in a 
 spirit of self-discipline. She appeared to be successful in winning 
 the confidence of parents, and she no longer complained of inabil- 
 ity to make herself liked by her little pupils. Best of all, she was 
 undoubtedly devoting herself to the work with all the powers of 
 her mind, making it the sole and sufficient purpose of her life. 
 Harvey felt no misgiving ; he spoke his true thought when he said 
 that he would rather trust Hughie to Mrs. Abbott than to any 
 other teacher. It was with surprise, therefore, and some annoy- 
 ance, that he received Alma's reply to his proposal for their going 
 over to Gunnersbury next week. 
 
 " Are you quite sure," she said, rather coldly, " that Mrs. Abbott 
 will teach better than Pauline ? " 
 
 " It isn't only that. Hughie must have companions. I thought 
 we had agreed about it." 
 
 " Have you inquired who his companions will be .' " 
 
 " Oh— the ordinary children of ordinary people," he replied, 
 with some impatience. " I don't know that babies are likely to 
 corrupt each other. But, of course, you will ask Mrs. Abbott all 
 about that kind of thing— or anything else you wish." 
 
 Alma shook her head, laughing carelessly. 
 
 " No, no. That is all in your hands. You have discussed it 
 with her, haven't you ? " 
 
 " I haven't so much as mentioned it. But, of course, I am quite 
 willing to relieve you of all trouble in the matter." 
 
226 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 His tone seemed to startle Alma, for she looked up at him 
 quickly, and spoke in a more serious voice. 
 
 " I don't think we quite understand each other about Hughie. 
 Why should you be so anxious ? He seems to me to be doing- 
 very well. Remember, he's only a little more than three years old 
 —quite a baby, as you say. I don't think he would feel the want 
 of companions for another year at least." 
 
 Harvey met her look, and replied quietly. 
 
 '■ It isn't that I'm anxious about him. I have to plan for his 
 education, that's all." 
 
 " You're beginning rather early. Fathers don't generally look 
 after their children so young." 
 
 "Unfortunately, they don't," said Harvey, with a laugh. 
 " Mothers do, here and there." 
 
 '■ But surely you don't mean that I am neglectful, Harvey > " 
 
 " Not at all. Teaching isn't your mdtier. Alma. " 
 
 " I have always confessed that. But, then, the time for teaching 
 Hughie has hardly come. What can Pauline do but just see that 
 he doesn't get into mischief ? " 
 
 " That's the very reason why he would be better for two or 
 three hours a day with some one who knows how to teach a child 
 of his age. It isn't as unimportant as you think. Pauline does 
 very well, but Mrs. Abbott will do better." 
 
 Vexed at his own cowardliness — for he could not utter the words 
 that leapt to his tongue — Harvey fell into a perverse insistence on 
 Mrs. Abbott's merits. He had meant to confine himself within 
 the safe excuse that the child needed companionship. Forbidden 
 the natural relief of a wholesome, hearty outburst of anger — which 
 would have done good in many ways— his nerves drove him into 
 smothered petulance, with the result that Alma misread him, and 
 saw in his words a significance quite apart from their plain meaning. 
 
 " I have not the least intention of interfering, Harvey," she said, 
 with her distant smile. " For the next few months I shall be very 
 busy indeed. Only one thing I would ask — you don't think of 
 leaving this house before midsummer.? " 
 
 ■' No." 
 
 " Because I shall probably give my recital m May, and — it would 
 be rather inconvenient " 
 
 " Everything shall be arranged to suit you." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 227 
 
 " Not at all, not at all ! " she exclaimed cheerfully. " I don't ask 
 so much as that ; it would be unreasonable. We are neither of us 
 to stand in the other's way — isn't that the agreement ? Tell me 
 your plans, and you shall know mine, and I'm sure everything will 
 be managed very well." 
 
 So the conversation ended, satisfactorily to neither. Harvey, 
 aware of having spoken indiscreetly, felt that he was still more to 
 blame for allowing his wife a freedom of which she threatened to 
 make absurd use ; and Alma, her feelings both as wife and mother 
 sensibly perturbed, resented the imputation which seemed to have 
 been thrown upon her conduct. This resentment was of course 
 none the less enduring because conscience took her husband's side. 
 She remembered her appointment to-morrow (practically an ap- 
 pointment) with Cyrus Redgrave at the Crystal Palace ; would 
 not that be more difficult to confess than anything she could rea- 
 sonably suppose to have happened between Harvey and Mary 
 Abbott ? Yet more than ever she hoped to meet Redgrave, to 
 hold him by a new link of illusory temptation, that he might exert 
 himself to the utmost in promoting her success. For among the 
 impulses which urged her forward, her reason for desiring a public 
 triumph was one which Harvey perhaps never for a moment ima- 
 gined — a desire to shine gloriously in the eyes of her husband. 
 Harvey would never do her justice until constrained by the voice of 
 the world. Year after year he held her in less esteem ; he had as 
 good as said that he did not think her capable of taking a place 
 among professional violinists. Disguise it how he might, he secretly 
 wished her to become a mere domestic creature, to abandon hopes 
 that were nothing better than a proof of vanity. This went to 
 Alma's heart, and rankled there. He should see ! He should con- 
 fess his error, in all its injurious and humilating extent ! At what- 
 ever cost — at all but any cost — the day of her triumph should come 
 about ! Foreseeing it, she had less difficulty in keeping calm when 
 the excellences of Mrs. Abbott were vaunted before her, when Har- 
 vey simply ignored all that in herself compensated the domestic 
 shortcoming. Of course, she was not a model of the home-keeping 
 virtues ; who expected an artist to be that ? But Harvey denied 
 this claim ; and of all the motives contributing to her aspiration, 
 none had such unfailing force as the vehement resolve to prove 
 him wrong. 
 
228 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Next morning the weather was so bad that Harvey asked 
 whether she had not better give up her expedition to the Crystal 
 Palace. Alma smiled and shook her head. 
 
 " You think I go only for amusement. It's so difficult to make 
 you understand that these things are serious." 
 
 " Congestion of the lungs is serious. I don't think Mrs. Froth- 
 ingham will face it. There'll probably be a telegram from her." 
 
 But by mid-day the fierce wind and driving sleet had abated, 
 though the outlook remained cheerless enough. After an early 
 lunch, Alma set forth. Dora Leach joined her in the train, and 
 thus they travelled, through sooty gloom, under or above ground, 
 from the extreme north to the farthest south of London ; alighting 
 at length with such a ringing of the ears, such an impression of 
 roar and crash and shriek, as made the strangest prelude to a feast 
 of music ever devised in the world's history. Their seats having 
 been taken in advance, they entered a few moments before the 
 concert began, and found themselves amid a scanty audience ; on 
 either side of them were vacant places. Alma did not dare to 
 glance round about. If Redgrave were here, and looked for her, 
 he would have no difficulty in discovering where she sat ; pro- 
 bably, too, he could manage to take possession of the chair at her 
 side. And this was exactly what happened, though not until the 
 first piece had been performed. 
 
 " I congratulate you on your zeal," spoke the voice which al- 
 ways put her in mind of sunny mountains and a blue lake. 
 
 " Inviting a compliment in return," said Alma, with a sudden 
 illumination of her features. " Are you one of the regular atten- 
 dants ? " 
 
 '■ Don't you remember ? " His voice dropped so low that he 
 hardly seemed to address her. " I promised myself the plea- 
 sure " 
 
 Alma pretended not to hear. She turned to her companion, 
 spoke a word, and renewed the very slight acquaintance which 
 had existed a few years ago between Redgrave and Miss Leach. 
 Then the sound of an instrument imposed silence. 
 
 It was not the first time that Alma affected to be absorbed in 
 music when not consciously hearing it at all. To-day the circum- 
 stances made such distraction pardonable; but often enough she 
 had sat thus, with countenance composed or ecstatic, only seem- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 229 
 
 ing to listen, even when a master played. For Alma had no pro- 
 found love of the art. Nothing more natural than her laying it 
 completely aside when, at home in Wales, she missed her suffi- 
 cient audience. To her, music was not an end in itself. Like 
 numberless girls, she had, to begin with, a certain mechanical 
 aptitude, which encouraged her through the earlier stages, until 
 vanity stepped in and urged her to considerable attainments. Her 
 father's genuine delight in music of the higher kind served as an 
 encouragement whenever her own energies began to fail ; and 
 when at length, with advancing social prospects, the thought took 
 hold of her that, by means of her violin, she might maintain a place 
 of distinction above ordinary handsome girls and heiresses, it suf- 
 ficed to overcome her indolence and lack of the true temper. She 
 founded her Quartet Society, and queened it over amateurs, some 
 of whom were much better endowed than herself. Having set 
 her pride on winning praise as a musician, of course she took 
 pains, even working very hard from time to time. She had first- 
 rate teachers, and was clever enough to profit by their lessons. 
 With it all, she cared as little for music as ever ; to some extent 
 it had lost even that power over her sensibilities which is felt by 
 the average hearer. Alma had an emotional nature, but her emo- 
 tions responded to almost any kind of excitement sooner than to 
 the musical. So much had she pretended and posed, so much 
 had she struggled with mere manual difficulties, so much lofty 
 cant and sounding hoUowness had she talked, that the name of her 
 art was grown a weariness, a disgust. Conscious of this, she was 
 irritated whenever Harvey begged her to play simple things ; for 
 indeed, if she must hear music at all, it was just those simple mel- 
 odies she would herself have preferred. And among the self-styled 
 musical people with whom she associated, were few, if any, in 
 whom conceit did not sound the leading motive. She knew but 
 one true musician, Herr Wilenski. That the virtuoso took no 
 trouble to bring her in touch with his own chosen circle, was a 
 significant fact which quite escaped Alma's notice. 
 
 Between the pieces Redgrave chatted in a vein of seductive fa- 
 miliarity, saying nothing that Dora Leach might not have heard, 
 but frequently softening his voice, as though to convey intimate 
 meanings. His manner had the charm of variety ; he was never 
 on two occasions alike ; to-day he seemed to relax in a luxurious 
 
23.0 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 mood, due in part to the influence of sound, and in part, as 
 his eyes declared, to the sensuous pleasure of sitting by Alma's 
 side. 
 
 " What an excellent fellow Carnaby is ! " he remarked unex- 
 pectedly. " I have been seeing a good deal of him lately — as you 
 know, I think ? " 
 
 " So I have heard." 
 
 " I like him all the better because I am rather sorry for him." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Don't you feel that he is very much out of place ? He doesn't 
 belong to our world at all. He ought to be founding a new civili- 
 sation in some wild country. I can sympathise with him ; I have 
 something of the same spirit." 
 
 "I never observed it," said Alma, allowing her glance to skim 
 his features. 
 
 " Perhaps because you yourself represent civilisation in its 
 subtlest phase, and vi'hen I am with you I naturally think only of 
 that. I don't say I should have thriven as a backwoodsman ; but 
 I admire the type in Carnaby. That's one of our privileges, don't 
 you think } We live in imagination quite as much as in everyday 
 existence. You, I am sure, are in sympathy with infinite forms of 
 life — and," he added, just above his breath, " you could realise so 
 many of them." 
 
 " I shall be content with one," replied Alma. 
 
 " And that ? " 
 
 She nodded towards the concert platform, where, at the same 
 moment, a violinist stepped forward. Redgrave gazed inquiringly 
 at her, but she kept silence until the next interval. Then, in reply 
 to his direct question, she told him, with matter-of-fact brevity, 
 what her purpose was. He showed neither surprise nor excessive 
 pleasure, but bent his head with a grave approving smile. 
 
 " So you feel that the time has come. Of course I knew that it 
 would. Are any details arranged ? — or perhaps I mustn't ask .' " 
 
 " I wanted to talk it over with you,'' she answered graciously. 
 
 After the concert they had tea together. Redgrave was very 
 attentive to Miss Leach, whom his talk amused and flattered. 
 Alma's enterprise was discussed with pleasant freedom, and Red- 
 grave learnt that she had decided to employ Mr. Felix Dymes as 
 her agent. The trio set forth at length on their homeward jour- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 231 
 
 ney in a mood of delightful animation, and travelled together as 
 far as Victoria. 
 
 " I haven't said that you can rely on me for all possible assis- 
 tance," Redgrave remarked, as he walked along the roaring plat- 
 form by Alma's side. " That is a matter of course. We shall 
 meet again before long ? " 
 
 " No doubt.'' 
 
 " In Porchester Terrace perhaps ? " 
 
 " Perhaps." ■? ' 
 
 Alma met his eyes, and took away with her the consciousness 
 of having dared greatly. But the end was a great one. 
 
 In spite of the bad weather, Mrs. Frothingham had travelled up 
 from Basingstoke. Alma found her in the drawing-room, and 
 saw at a glance that there had been conversation on certain sub- 
 jects between her and Harvey ; but not until the next day did Mrs. 
 Frothingham speak of what she had heard, and make her private 
 comments for Alma's benefit. 
 
 " I thought Harvey was joking, dear. Have you reflected how 
 many reasons there are why you shouldn't ? " 
 
 The pathetic gaze of appeal produced no effect. 
 
 " Did Harvey ask you to talk about it, mamma ? " 
 
 " No. He takes it in the kindest way. But, Alma, you surely 
 see that it pains him ? " 
 
 " Pains him ? That shows you don't understand us, dear 
 piamma. We could neither of us possibly do anything that would 
 pain the other. We are in perfect harmony, yet absolutely inde- 
 pendent. It has all been talked over and settled. You must 
 have misunderstood Harvey altogether." 
 
 From this position Alma could not be moved, and Mrs. Froth- 
 ingham, too discreet to incur the risk of interference, spoke no 
 more of the matter as it concerned man and*" wife. But another 
 objection she urged with almost tearful earnestness. Did Alma 
 forget that her appearance in public would give occasion to most 
 disagreeable forms of gossip ? And even if she disregarded the 
 scandal of a few years ago, would not many of her acquaintances 
 say and believe that necessity had driven her into a professional 
 career ? 
 
 " They may say what they like, and think what they like," was 
 Alma's lofty reply. " If artists had always considered such trivial 
 
232 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 difficulties, where sliould we have been ? Suppose gossip does its 
 worst — it's all over in a few months ; then I stand by my own 
 merit. Dear mamma, don't be old fashioned ! You look so 
 young and so charming — indeed you do — that 1 can't bear to hear 
 you talk in that early Victorian way. Art is art, and all these 
 other things have nothing whatever to do with it. There, it's all 
 over. Be good, and amuse yourself whilst you are with us. I as- 
 sure you we are the most reasonable and the happiest people 
 living." 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham smiled at the compliment to herself ; then 
 sighed, and held her peace. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 So day by day Alma's violin sounded, and day after day Harvey 
 heard it with a growing impatience. As is commonly the case 
 with people of untrained ear, he had never much cared for this in- 
 strument ; he preferred the piano. Not long ago he would have 
 thought it impossible that he could ever come to dislike music, 
 which throughout his life had been to him a solace and an inspi- 
 ration ; but now he began to shrink from the sound of it. As 
 Alma practiced in the morning, he was driven at length to alter his 
 habits, and to leave home after breakfast. Having no other busi- 
 ness, he went to Westminster Bridge Road, met Cecil Morphew 
 at the shop, watched the progress of alterations that seemed advi- 
 sable, picked up a little knowledge of photography, talked over 
 prices, advertisements, and numerous commercial matters of which 
 he had .hitherto been contentedly ignorant. Before long, his loan 
 to Morphew was converted into an investment ; he became a part- 
 ner in the concern, which, retaining the name of the old proprietor, 
 they carried on as Denbow & Co. 
 
 The redemption of his debentures kept him still occupied with a 
 furtive study of the money-market. He did not dare to face risk 
 on a large scale ; the mere thought of a great reduction of income 
 made him tremble and perspire. So in the end he adopted the 
 simple and straightforward expedient of seeking an interview 
 with his banker, by whom he was genially counselled to purchase 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 233 
 
 such-and-such stock, a sound security, but less productive than 
 that he had previously held. An unfortunate necessity, seeing 
 that his expenses increased and were likely to do so. But he tried 
 to hope that Westminster Bridge Road would eventually reim- 
 burse him. With good luck, it might do more. 
 
 His days of quietude were over. He, to6, was being drawn into 
 the whirlpool. No more dreaming arnong his books ; no more 
 waking to the ordinary duties and cares of a reasonable life. As a 
 natural consequence of the feeling of uhsettlement, of instability, 
 he had recourse more often than he wished to the old convivial 
 habits, gathering about him once again, at club or restaurant, the 
 kind of society in which he always felt at ease — good, careless, 
 jovial, and often impecunious fellows, who, as in days gone by, 
 sometimes made a demand upon his purse which he could not 
 resist, though he had now such cause for rigid economy. Was it 
 that he grew old ? — he could no longer take his wine with disregard 
 of consequence. The slightest excess, and too surely he paid for 
 it on the morrow, not merely with a passing headache, but with a 
 whole day's miserable discomfort. Oh, degeneracy of stomach 
 and of brain ! Of will, too ; for he was sure to repeat the foolish 
 experience before a week had passed. 
 
 It was not till Mrs. Frothingham had left them after a fort- 
 night's visit that he reminded Alma of her promise to go with him 
 to Gunnersbury. 
 
 " Did I promise ? " she said. " I thought we agreed that you 
 should settle all that yourself." 
 
 " I had rather you came with me to see Mrs. Abbott. Shall it 
 be Saturday ? " 
 
 " Can't," replied Alma, with a shake of the head and a smile. 
 " I have to see Mr. Dymes." 
 
 " Dymes ? Who is he ? " 
 
 " My agent." 
 
 " Oh ! — very well ; then I'll go alone." 
 
 He would not permit himself any further inquiiy. Alma had 
 never spoken to him of Dymes, her "agent.'' Harvey pictured 
 an ill-shaven man in a small office, and turned from the thought 
 with disgust. Too late to interpose, to ask questions ; anything 
 of that kind would but make him seem small, ridiculous, fussy. 
 He had chosen his course, and must pursue it. 
 
234 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Not that Alma behaved in such a way as to suggest estrange- 
 ment ; anything but so. Her manner was always amiable, fre- 
 quently affectionate. When they spent an evening together — it 
 did not often happen— she talked delightfully; avoiding, as did 
 Harvey himself, the subjects on which they were not likely to 
 agree. Her gaze had all the old directness, her smile was sweet 
 as ever, and her laugh as melodious. If ever he felt uneasy during 
 her long absences in town, one of these evenings sufficed to re- 
 assure him. Alma was Alma still, and could he but have recon- 
 ciled himself to the thought of her playing in public, she would 
 have been yet the wife he chose, frankly self-willed, gallantly in- 
 dependent. 
 
 Until a certain day at the end of March, when something hap- 
 pened of which Harvey had no suspicion, but which affected Alma 
 in a way he soon perceived. 
 
 That morning he had left home early, and would not return till 
 late. Alma practiced as usual, had luncheon alone, and was 
 thinking of going out, when the post delivered two letters — one 
 for herself from Dymes, the other for her husband. A glance 
 showed her that Harvey's correspondent was Mrs. Abbott, and 
 never till to-day had one of Mrs. Abbott's letters come into her 
 hand. She regarded it with curiosity, and the longer she looked 
 the stronger her curiosity became. Harvey would of course tell 
 her what his friend wrote about — as he always did ; but the epistle 
 itself she would not be asked to read. And did she, as a matter 
 of fact, always know when Harvey heard from Mrs. Abbott .' 
 A foolish question, probably ; for if the correspondence were 
 meant to be secret, it would be addressed to Harvey at his club, 
 not to the house. All the same, a desire of years concentrated it- 
 self in this moment. Alma wished vehemently to read one of 
 Mary Abbott's letters with her own eyes. 
 
 She turned the envelope. It was of very stout paper, and did 
 not look quite securely gummed. Would not a touch of the fin- 
 ger — almost — ? Why, there, just as she thought ; a mere touch, 
 and the envelope came open. " Now, if I ever wrote a dangerous 
 word," mused Alma — "which I don't, and never shall — this would 
 be a lesson to me." 
 
 Well, it was open, and, naturally enough, the letter came forth. 
 What harm? There could be nothing in it that Harvey would 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 235 
 
 wish to hide from her. So, with hands that trembled, and cheelis 
 that felt warm, she began to read. 
 
 The letter was Mrs. Abbott's aclcnowledgment of the quarterly 
 cheque she received from Rolfe. Alma was surprised at the men- 
 tion of money in the first hne, and read eagerly on. As Mary 
 Abbott and her friend had seen each other so recently, there was 
 no need of a full report concerning Minnie Wager (her brother 
 had long since gone to a boarding-school), but the wording allowed 
 it to be understood that Harvey paid for the child, and, what was 
 more, that he held himself responsible for her future. What could 
 this mean .' Alma pondered it in astonishment ; gratified by the 
 discovery, but disturbed beyond measure by its mysterious sug- 
 gestiveness. The letter contained little more, merely saying, 
 towards the end, how very glad the writer would be to give her 
 utmost care to little Hugh when presently he came into her hands. 
 Last of all — "Please remember me kindly to Mrs. Rolfe." 
 
 At this point of her life Alma had become habitually suspicious 
 of any relation between man and woman which might suggest, 
 however remotely, dubious possibilities. Innocence appeared to 
 her the exception, lawlessness the rule, where man and woman 
 were restrained by no obvious barriers. It was the natural result 
 of her experience, of her companionship, of the thoughts she de- 
 liberately fostered. Having read the letter twice, having mused 
 upon it, she leapt to a conclusion which seemed to explain com- 
 pletely the peculiar intimacy subsisting between Harvey and Mary 
 Abbott. These two children, known as Albert and Minnie Wager, 
 were Harvey's offspring, the result of some liaison before his 
 marriage ; and Mrs. Abbott, taking charge of them for payment, 
 had connived at the story of their origin, of their pitiful desertion. 
 What could be clearer ? 
 
 She did not go further in luminous conjectures. Even with her 
 present mind, Alma could not conceive of Mary Abbott as a 
 wanton, of Harvey Rolfe as a shameless intriguer ; but it stung 
 her keenly to think that for years there had been this secret be- 
 tween them. Probably the matter was known to Mrs. Abbott's 
 husband, and so, at his death, it had somehow become possible for 
 Harvey to suggest this arrangement, whereby he helped the widow 
 in her misfortunes, and provided conscientiously for his own illegi- 
 timate children. Harvey was so very conscientious about children ! 
 
236 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Did they resemble him ? She had seen the little girl, but only 
 once, and without attention. She would take an early opportunity 
 of going over to Gunnersbury, to observe. But no such evidence 
 was necessary ; the facts stared one in the face. 
 
 That Harvey should have kept this secret from her was intelligi- 
 ble enough ; most men, no doubt, would have done the same. 
 But it seemed to Alma only another proof of her husband's in- 
 ability to appreciate her. He had no faith in her as artist ; he had 
 no faith in her as woman. Had she not felt this even from the 
 very beginning of their intimate acquaintance .' Perhaps the first 
 thing that awakened her interest in Harvey Rolfe was the percep- 
 tion that he did not, like other men, admire her unreservedly, that 
 he regarded her with something of criticism. She could attract 
 him ; she could play upon his senses ; yet he remained critical. 
 This, together with certain characteristics which distinguished him 
 from the ordinary drawing-room man, suggestions of force and in- 
 dividuality, drew her into singular relations with him long before 
 she dreamt that he would become her husband. And his attitude 
 towards her was unchanged, spite of passionate love-making, spite 
 of the tenderness and familiarity of marriage ; still he viewed her 
 with eyes of tolerance, rather than of whole-hearted admiration. 
 He compared, contrasted her with Mary Abbott, for whose in- 
 tellect and character he had a sincere respect. Doubtless he fan- 
 cied that, if this secret became known to her, she would sulk or 
 storm, after the manner of ordinary wives. What made him so 
 blind to her great qualities ? Was it that he had never truly loved 
 her ? Had it been owing to mere chance, mere drift of circum- 
 stances, that he offered her marriage, instead of throwing out a 
 proposal such as that of Cyrus Redgrave at Bregenz ? 
 
 Though but darkly, confusedly, intermittently conscious of the 
 feeling. Alma was at heart dissatisfied with the liberty, the in- 
 dependence, which her husband seemed so willing to allow her. 
 This, again, helped to confirm the impression that Harvey held her 
 in small esteem. He did not think it worth while to oppose her ; 
 she might go her frivolous way, and he would watch with careless 
 amusement. At moments, it was true, he appeared on the point 
 of ill-humour ; once or twice she had thought (perhaps had hoped) 
 that he would lay down the law in masculine fashion ; but no — he 
 laughed, and it was over. When, at the time of her misery in 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 237 
 
 Wales — her dim jealousy of Mrs. Abbott, and revolt against the 
 prospect of a second motherhood — she had subdued herself before 
 him, spoken and behaved like an everyday dutiful wife, Harvey 
 would have none of it. He wished— was that the reason ?— to be 
 left alone, not to be worried with her dependence upon him. That 
 no doubt of her fidelity ever seemed to enter his mind, was capable 
 of anything but a complimentary interpretation ; he simply took it 
 for granted that she would be faithful— in other words, that she 
 had not spirit or originality enough to defy conventional laws. 
 To himself, perhaps, he reserved a much larger liberty. How 
 could she tell where, in what company, his evenings were spent ? 
 More than once he had been away from home all night — missed 
 the last train, he said. Well, it was nothing to her ; but his in- 
 curiousness as to her own movements began to affect her sensibly, 
 now that she imagined so close a community of thoughts and in- 
 terests between Harvey and Mary Abbott. 
 
 Before his return to-night other letters had arrived for him, and 
 all lay together, as usual, upon his desk. Alma, trying to wear 
 her customary face, waited for him to mention that he had heard 
 from Gunnersbury, but Harvey said nothing. He talked, instead, 
 of a letter from Basil Morton, who wanted him to go to Greystone 
 in the spring, with wife and cljild. 
 
 " You mustn't count on me," said Alma. 
 
 " But after your concert — recital — whatever you call it ; it would 
 be a good rest." 
 
 " Oh, I shall be busier than ever. Mr. Dymes hopes to arrange 
 for me at several of the large towns." 
 
 Harvey smiled, and Alma observed him with irritation she could 
 scarcely repress. Of course, his smile meant a civil scepticism. 
 
 " By-the-bye," he asked, " is Dymes the comic opera man ? " 
 
 " Yes. I rather wondered, Harvey, whether you would awake 
 to that fact. He will be one of our greatest composers. " 
 
 She went on with enthusiasm, purposely exaggerating Dymes's 
 merits, and professing a warm personal regard for him. In the end, 
 Harvey's eye was upon her, still smiling, but curiously observant. 
 
 " Why hasn't he been here ? Doesn't he think it odd that you 
 never ask him ? " 
 
 " Oh, you know that I don't care to ask people. They are 
 aware " — she laughed—" that my husband is not musical.'- 
 
238 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Harvey's countenance changed. 
 
 '■ Do you mean that you tell them so ? " 
 
 " Not in any disagreeable way, of course. It's so natural, now, 
 for married people to have each their own world." 
 
 " So it is," he acquiesced. 
 
 Alma would have gone to Gunnersbury the very next day, but 
 she feared to excite some suspicion in her husband's mind. He 
 Uttle imagined her capable of opening his letters, and to be de- 
 tected in such a squalid misdemeanour would have overwhelmed 
 her with shame. In a day or two she would be going to Mrs. 
 Rayner Mann's, to meet a certain musical critic "of great influence,'' 
 and by leaving home early she could contrive to make a call upon 
 Mrs. Abbott before lunching at Putney. This she did. She saw 
 little Minnie Wager, scrutinised the child's features, and had no 
 difficulty whatever in discerning Harvey's eyes, Harvey's mouth. 
 Why should she have troubled herself to come.? It was very hard 
 to control her indignation. If Mrs. Abbott thought her rather 
 strange, rather abrupt, what did it matter ? 
 
 At Mrs. Rayner Mann's she passed into a soothing and delicious 
 atmosphere. The influential critic proved to be a very young 
 man, five and twenty at most ; he stammered with nervousness 
 when first addressing the stranger, but soon gave her to under- 
 stand, more or less humorously, that his weekly article was 
 " quite ■■ the most important thing in latter-day musical criticism, 
 and that he panted for the opportunity of hearing a new violinist 
 of real promise. But Alma had not brought her violin ; lest she 
 should make herself cheap, she never played now at people's 
 houses. The critic had to be satisfied with hearing her talk and 
 gazing upon her beauty. Alma was become a very fluent talker, 
 and her voice had the quality which fixes attention. At luncheon, 
 whilst half a dozen persons lent willing ear, she compared Sara- 
 sate's playing of Beethoven's Concerto with that of Joachim, and 
 declared that Sarasate's cadenza in the first movement, though 
 marvellous for technical skill, was not at all in the spirit of the 
 work. The influential writer applauded, drawing her on to fresh 
 displays of learning, taste, eloquence. She had a great deal to say 
 about somebody's " technique of the left hand," of somebody 
 else's " tonal effects," of a certain pianist's " warmth of touch." 
 It was a truly musical gathering ; each person at table had some 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 239 
 
 exquisite phrase to contribute. The hostess, who played no in- 
 strument, but doted upon all, was of opinion that an executant 
 should " aim at mirroring his own nature in his interpretation of a 
 tone-poem " ; whereupon another lady threw out remarks on 
 " subjective interpretation," confessing her preference for a method 
 purely " objective." The influential critic began to talk about 
 Liszt, with whom he declared that he had been on intimate terms ; 
 he grew fervent over the master's rhapsodies, with their " clanging 
 rhythm and dithyrambic fury.'' 
 
 " I don't know when I enjoyed myself so much," said Alma 
 gaily, as the great young man pressed her hand at parting and 
 avowed himself her devoted admirer. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Rolfe,'' said the hostess privately, " you were 
 simply brilliant ! We are all looking forward so eagerly ! " 
 
 And as soon as Alma was gone, the amiable lady talked about 
 her to the one remaining guest. 
 
 " Isn'i she delightful ! I do so hope she will be a success. I'm 
 afraid so much depends upon it. Of course, you know that she is 
 the daughter of Bennet Frothingham .'' Didn't you know ? Yes, 
 and left without a farthing. I suppose it was natural she should 
 catch at an offer of marriage, poor girl, but it seems to have been 
 mosi ill-advised. One never sees her husband, and I'm afraid he 
 is anything but kind to her. He may have calculated on her 
 chances as a musician. I am told they have little or nothing to 
 depend upon. Do drum up your friends — will you ? It is to be 
 at Prince's Hall, on May the i6th— I think. I feel, don't you 
 know, personally responsible ; she would never have come out but 
 for my persuasion, and I'm so anxious for a success ! " 
 
 The day drew near for Ada Wellington's debut. Alma met 
 this young lady, but they did not take to each other; Miss Well- 
 ington was a trifle " loud," and, unless Alma mistook, felt fiercely 
 jealous of any one admired by Felix Dymes. As she could not 
 entertain at their own house (somewhere not far south of the 
 Thames), Mrs. Wellington borrowed Dymes's flat for an afternoon, 
 and there, supported by the distinguished composer, received a 
 strange medley of people who interested themselves in her 
 daughter's venture. Alma laughed at the arrangement, and asked 
 Dymes if he expected her congratulations. 
 
 " Don't make fun of them," said Felix. " Of course, they're not 
 
240 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 your sort, Alma. But I've known them all my life, and old Well- 
 ington did me more than one good turn when I was a youngster. 
 Ada won't make much of it, but she'll squeeze in among the pro- 
 vincial pros after this send off." 
 
 " You really are capable of generosity } " asked Alma. 
 
 " I swear there's nothing between us. There's only one woman 
 living that I have eyes for — and I'm afraid she doesn't care a rap 
 about me ; at all events, she treats me rather badly." 
 
 This dialogue took place in a drawing-room the evening before 
 Miss Wellington's day. Alma had declined to meet her agent a 
 second time at the Apollo Theatre ; they saw each other, by ar- 
 rangement, at this and that house of common friends, and corre- 
 sponded freely by post, Dymes's letters always being couched in 
 irreproachable phrase. Whenever the thing was possible, he un- 
 disguisedly made love, and Alma bore with it for the sake of his 
 services. He had obtained promises from four musicians of repute 
 to take part in Alma's concert, and declared that the terms they 
 asked were lower than usual, owing to their regard for him. The 
 expenses of the recital, without allowing for advertisements, would 
 amount to seventy or eighty pounds ; and Dymes guaranteed that 
 the hall should produce at least that. Alma, ashamed to appear 
 uneasy about such paltry sums, always talked as though outlay 
 mattered nothing. 
 
 " Don't stint on advertisements," she said. 
 
 " No fear ! Leave that to me," answered Felix, with a smile of 
 infinite meaning. 
 
 Ada Wellington could not afford to risk much money, and Alma 
 thought her announcements in the papers worth nothing at all. 
 However, the pianist was fairly successful ; a tolerable audience 
 was scraped together (at Steinway Hall), and press notices of a 
 compUmentary flavour, though brief, appeared in several quarters. 
 With keen anxiety Alma followed every detail. She said to herself 
 that if Aer appearance in public made no more noise than this, she 
 would be ready to die of mortification. There remained a fort- 
 night before the ordeal ; had they not better begin to advertise at 
 once ? Thus she wrote to Dymes, who replied by sending her 
 three newspapers, in each of which a paragraph of musical gossip 
 informed the world that l\Irs. Harvey Rolfe was about to give her 
 first public violin recital at Prince's Hall. Mrs. Rolfe, added the 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 241 
 
 journalists in varying phrase, was already well known to the best 
 musical circles as an amateur violinist, and great interest attached 
 to her appearance in public, a step on which she had decided only 
 after much persuasion of friends and admirers. Already there 
 was considerable demand for tickets, and the audience would 
 most certainly be both large and distinguished. Alma laughed 
 with delight. 
 
 The same day, by a later post, she received a copy of a " so- 
 ciety " journal, addressed in a hand unknown to her. Guided by 
 a red pencil mark, she became aware of no less than a quarter of 
 a column devoted to herself. From this she might learn (if she 
 did not already know it) that Mrs. Harvey Rolfe was a lady of the 
 utmost personal and social charm ; that her beauty was not easily 
 described without the use of terms that would sound extravagant ; 
 that as a violinist she had stood for a year or two facile princeps 
 amid lady amateurs ; that she had till of late lived in romantic 
 seclusion "amid the noblest scenery of North Wales,'' for the sole 
 purpose of devoting herself to music ; and that only with the great- 
 est reluctance had she consented to make known to the public a 
 talent — nay, a genuis— which assuredly was " meant for mankind." 
 She was the favourite pupil of that admirable virtuoso, Herr 
 Wilenski. At Prince's Hall, on the sixteenth of May, all lovers of 
 music would have, etc., etc. 
 
 This batch of newspapers Alma laid before dinner on Harvey's 
 desk, and about an hour after the meal she entered the library. 
 Her husband, smoking and meditating, looked up constrainedly. 
 
 " I have read them," he remarked, in a dry tone. 
 
 Alma's coldness during the last few weeks he had explained to 
 himself as the result of his failure to take interest in her proceed- 
 ings. He knew that this behaviour on his part was quite illogical ; 
 Alma acted with full permission, and he had no right whatever to 
 "turn grumpy" just because he disliked what she was doing. 
 Only to-day he had rebuked himself, and meant to make an effort 
 to restore goodwill between them ; but these newspaper paragraphs 
 disgusted him. He could not speak as he wished. 
 
 " This is your agent's doing, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Of course. That is his business." 
 
 " Well, I won't say anything about it. \l you are satisfied, I have 
 no right to complain." 
 
242 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 "Indeed, I don't think you have," replied Alma, putting severe 
 restraint upon herself to speak calmly. Thereupon she left the 
 room. 
 
 Harvey rose to follow her. He took a step forward — stood still 
 — returned to his chair. And they did not see each other again 
 that night. 
 
 In the morning came a letter from Dymes. He wrote that a 
 certain newspaper wished for an " interview " with Mrs. Rolfe, to 
 be published next week. Should the interviewer call upon her, and, 
 if so, when ? Moreover, an illustrated paper wanted her portrait 
 with the least possible delay. Were her new photographs ready ? 
 If so, would she send him a dozen ? Better still if he could see 
 her to-day, for he had important things to speak of. Might he 
 look for her at Mrs. Littlestone's at about four o'clock ? 
 
 At breakfast Alma was chatty, but she directed her talk almost 
 exclusively to Pauline Smith and to little Hugh, who now had his 
 place at table — a merry, sunny-haired little fellow, dressed in 
 a sailor suit. Harvey also talked a' good deal — he, too, with 
 Pauline and the child. When Alma rose he followed her, and 
 asked her to come into the library for a moment. 
 
 "I'm a curmudgeon," he began, facing her with nervous ab- 
 ruptness. " Forgive me for that foolery last night, will you ? " 
 
 " Of course," Alma replied distantly. 
 
 "No, but in the same spirit. Alma. I'm an ass ! I know that 
 if you do this thing at all, you must do it in the usual way. I wish 
 you success heartily, and I'll read with pleasure every scrap of 
 print that praises you." 
 
 " I'm hurrying to town, Harvey. I have to go to the photo- 
 grapher) and see Mr. Dymes, and all sorts of things." 
 
 " The photographer ? I hope they'll be tolerable ; I know they 
 won't do you justice. Will you sit to a painter if I arrange it? 
 Unfortunately, I can't afford Millais, you know ; but I want a 
 good picture of you.'' 
 
 " We'll talk about it," she replied, smiling more pleasantly than 
 of late. " But I really haven't time now." 
 
 " And you forgive me my idiotics? " 
 
 She nodded and was gone. 
 
 In the afternoon she met Dymes at Mrs. Littlestone's, a house 
 of much society, for the most part theatrical. When they had 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 243 
 
 moved aside for private talk, he began by asking a brusque 
 question. 
 
 " Who got that notice for you into the IVest End? " 
 
 " Why, didn't you ? " 
 
 " Know nothing about it. Come, who was it } " 
 
 " I have no idea. I took it for granted " 
 
 " Look here. Alma, I think I'm not doing badly for you, and the 
 least you can do is to be straight with me." 
 
 Alma raised her head with a quick, circuitous glance, then fixed 
 her eyes on the man's heated face, and spoke in an undertone ; 
 " Please behave yourself, or I shall have to go away." 
 
 " Then you won't tell me ? Very well. I chuck up the job. 
 You can run the show yourself. " 
 
 Alma had never looked for delicacy in Felix Dymes, and his 
 motives had from the first been legible to her, but this revelation 
 of brutality went beyond anything for which she was prepared. 
 As she saw the man move away, a feeling of helplessness and of 
 dread overcame her anger. She could not do without him. The 
 only other man active on her behalf was Cyrus Redgrave, and to 
 seek Redgrave's help at such a juncture, with the explanation that 
 must necessarily be given, would mean abandonment of her last 
 scruple. Of course, the paragraph in the Wesi End originated 
 with him ; since Dymes knew nothing about it, it could have no 
 other source. Slowly, but very completely, the man of weahh and 
 social influence had drawn his nets about her ; at each meeting with 
 him she felt more perilously compromised ; her airs of command 
 served merely to disguise defeat in the contest she had recklessly 
 challenged. Thrown upon herself, she feared Redgrave, shrank 
 from the thought of seeing him. Not that he had touched her heart 
 or beguiled her senses ; she hated him for his success in the calcu- 
 lated scheme to which she had'consciously yielded step by step ; but 
 she was brought to the point of regarding him as inseparable from 
 her ambitious hopes. Till quite recently her thought had been 
 that, after using him to secure a successful debut, she could wave 
 him off, perhaps tell him in plain words, with a smile of scorn, that 
 they were quits. She now distrusted her power to stand alone. 
 To the hostility of such a man as Dymes — certain, save at intoler- 
 able cost— she must be able to oppose a higher influence. Be- 
 tween Dymes and Redgrave there was no hesitating on whatever 
 
244 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 score. This advertisement in the fashionable and authoritative 
 weekly paper surpassed Dymes's scope ; his savage jealousy was 
 sufficient proof of that. All she could do for the moment was to 
 temporise with her ignobler master, and the humiliation of such 
 a necessity seemed to poison her blood. 
 
 She rose, talked a little of she knew not what with she knew 
 not whom, and moved towards the hostess, by whom her enemy 
 was sitting. A glance sufficed. As soon as she had taken leave, 
 Dymes followed her. He came up to her side at a few yards 
 from the house, and they walked together, without speaking, until 
 Alma turned into the first quiet street. 
 
 " I give you my word," she began, " that I know nothing what- 
 ever about that paper." 
 
 " I believe you, and I'm sorry I made a row," Dymes replied. 
 " There's no harm done. I dare say I shall be hearing more about 
 it." 
 
 " I have some photographs here," said Alma, touching her seal- 
 skin bag. " Will you take them ? " 
 
 " Thanks. But there's a whole lot of things to be arranged. 
 We can't talk here. Let's go to my rooms.'' 
 
 He spoke as though nothing were more natural. Alma, the blood 
 throbbing at her temples, saw him beckon a crawling hansom. 
 
 " I can't come — now. I have a dreadful headache." 
 
 " You only want to be quiet. Come along." 
 
 The hansom had pulled up. Alma, ashamed to resist under 
 the eyes of the driver, stepped in, and her companion placed him- 
 self at her side. As soon as they drove away he caught her hand 
 and held it tightly. 
 
 " I can't go to your rooms," said Alma, after a useless resis- 
 tance. " My head is terrible. Tell me whatever you have to say, 
 and then take me to Baker Street Station. I'll see you again in a 
 day or two." 
 
 She did not feign the headache. It had been coming on since 
 she left home, and was now so severe that her eyes closed under 
 the torture of the daylight. 
 
 " A little rest and you'll be all right," said Dymes. . 
 
 Five minutes more would bring them to their destination. Alma 
 pulled away her hand violently. 
 
 " If you don't stop him, I shall." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 245 
 
 " You mean it ? As you please. You know what I " 
 
 Alma raised herself, drew the cabman's attention, and bade 
 him drive to Baker Street. There was a short silence, Dymes 
 glaring and muttering inarticulately. 
 
 " Of course, if you really have a bad headache,'' he growled at 
 length. 
 
 " Indeed I have — and you treat me very unkindly.'' 
 
 " Hang it, Alma, don't speak like that ! As if I could be un- 
 kind to you ! " 
 
 He secured her hand again, and she did not resist. Then they 
 talked of business, settled one or two matters, appointed another 
 meeting. As they drew near to the station. Alma spoke im- 
 pulsively, with a bewildered look. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if I give it up, after all." 
 
 " Rot ! " was her companion's amazed exclamation. 
 
 " I might. I won't answer for it. And it would be your 
 fauh." 
 
 Stricken with alarm, Dymes poured forth assurances of his good 
 behaviour. He followed her down to the platform, and for a 
 quarter of an hour she had to listen, in torment of mind and body, 
 to remonstrances, flatteries, amorous blandishments, accompanied 
 by the hiss of steam and the roar of trains. 
 
 On reaching home she could do nothing but lie down in the 
 dark. Her head ached intolerably ; and hour after hour, as often 
 happens when the brain is over-wearied, a strain of music 
 hummed incessantly on her ear, till inability to dismiss it made her 
 cry 'in half-frenzied wretchedness. 
 
 With sleep she recovered ; but through the next day, dull and 
 idle, her thoughts kept such a gloomy colour that she well-nigh 
 brought herself to the resolve with which she had threatened Felix 
 Dymes. But for the anticipation of Harvey's triumph, she might 
 perhaps have done so. 
 
246 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 For several days she had not touched the violin. There was 
 no time for it. Correspondence, engagements, intrigues, whirled 
 her through the waking hours and agitated her repose. The 
 newspaper paragraphs resulted in a shower of letters, inquiring, 
 congratulating, offering good wishes, and all had to be courte- 
 ously answered, lest the writers should take offence. Invitations 
 to luncheon, to dinner, to midnight " at homes," came thick and 
 fast. If all this resulted from a few preliminary " puffs," what. 
 Alma asked herself, would be the consequence of an actual suc- 
 cess ? How did the really popular musicians contrive to get an 
 hour a day for the serious study of their art .' Her severe head- 
 ache had left behind it some nervous disorder, not to be shaken off 
 by any effort — a new distress, peculiarly irritating to one who had 
 always enjoyed good health. When she wrote, her hand was 
 unsteady, and sometimes her eyes dazzled. This would be alarm- 
 ing if it went on much longer ; the day approached, the great day, 
 the day of fate, and what hope was there for a violinist who could 
 not steady her hand .■' 
 
 The "interviewer" called, and chatted for half an hour, and 
 took his leave with a flourish of compliments. The musicians 
 engaged to play with her at Prince's Hall came down to try over 
 pieces, a trio, a duet ; so that at last she was obliged to take up 
 her instrument — with results that did not reassure her. She 
 explained that she was not feeling quite herself ; it was nothing ; 
 it would pass in a day or two. Sibyl Carnaby had asked her and 
 Harvey to dine next week, to meet several people ; Mrs. Rayner 
 Mann had arranged a dinner for another evening ; and now Mrs. 
 Strangeways, whom she had not seen for some weeks, sent an 
 urgent request that she would call in Porchester Terrace as soon 
 as possible, tospeak of something "very important." 
 
 This summons Alma durst not disregard. Between Mrs. 
 Strangeways and Cyrus Redgrave subsisted an intimacy which 
 caused her frequent uneasiness. It would not have surprised her 
 to discover that this officious friend knew of all her recent meet- 
 ings with Redgrave — at the Crystal Palace and elsewhere ; and. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 247 
 
 but for her innocence, she would have felt herself at the woman's 
 mercy. That she had not transgressed, and was in no danger of 
 transgressing, enabled her to move with head erect among the 
 things unspeakable which always seemed to her to be lurking'in 
 the shadowed corners of Mrs. Strangeways' house. The day was 
 coming when she might hope to terminate so undesirable an 
 accquaintance, but for the present she must show a friendly face. 
 
 She made this call at three o'clock, and was received in that 
 over-scented, over-heated boudoir, which by its atmosphere invari- 
 ably turned her thoughts to evil. The hostess rose languidly, 
 with a pallid, hollow-eyed look of illness. 
 
 " Only my neuralgic something or other,'' she said, in reply to a 
 sympathetic inquiry. " It's the price one pays for civilisation. I've 
 had two terrible days and nights, but it's over for the present. 
 But for that I should have written to you before. Why, you don't 
 look quite so well as usual. Be careful — do be careful ! " 
 
 " I mean to be, if people will let me." 
 
 "You have eight days, haven't you? Yes, just eight days. 
 You ought to keep as quiet as possible. We are all doing our 
 best ; but, after all, success depends greatly upon yourself, you 
 know." 
 
 The voice, as always, seemed to fondle her, but Alma's ear de- 
 tected the usual insincerity. Mrs. Strangeways spoke in much the 
 same way to numbers of people, yet not quite so caressingly. 
 Some interest she undoubtedly had to serve by this consistent dis- 
 play of affection, and with all but certainty Alma divined it. She 
 shrank from the woman ; it cost her an unceasing effort not to be- 
 tray dislike, or even hostility. 
 
 " Of course, you saw last week's West End? " pursued the 
 hostess, smiling. " You know whose doing that was ? " 
 
 " I only guessed that it might be Mr. Redgrave's kindness." 
 
 " I have the same suspicion. He was here the other day — -we 
 talked about you. You haven't seen him since then ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " He hinted to me — just a little anxiety. I hardly know whether 
 I ought to speak of it." 
 
 Alma looked an interrogation as unconcerned as she could make 
 it, but did not open her lips. 
 
 " It was with reference to — your man of business. It seems he 
 
248 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 has heard something — I really don't know what — not quite favour- 
 able to Mr. Dymes. I shall not offend you, dear ? " 
 
 " I don't take offence, Mrs. Strangeways," Alma answered, with 
 a slight laugh to cover her uneasiness. " It's so old-fashioned." 
 
 The hostess uttered a thin trill of merriment. 
 
 " One is always safe with people who have humour, dear. It 
 does make life easier, doesn't it ? Oh, the terrible persons who 
 take everything with tragic airs ! Well, there's not a bit of harm 
 in it. Between ourselves, it struck me that our friend was just a 
 little inclined to be — yes, you understand." 
 
 " I'm afraid I don't." 
 
 " I hate the word — well, just a trifle jealous." 
 
 Alma leant back in her chair, glanced about her, and said 
 nothing. 
 
 " Of course, he would never allow /<?« to suspect anything of 
 the kind. It will make no difference. You can count upon his ut- 
 most efforts. But when one thinks how very much he has it in his 
 
 power to do That bit of writing in the West End, you know — 
 
 only the highest influence can command that kind of thing. The 
 West End can't be bought, I assure you. And one has to think 
 of the future. A good beginning is much, but how many mu- 
 sicians are able to follow it up? My dear Alma, let me implore 
 you not to imagine that you will be able to dispense with this kind 
 of help.'' 
 
 " Do you mean that Mr. Redgrave is likely to withdraw it ? " 
 
 " Impossible for me to say, dear. I am only telling you how 
 his conversation struck me. He appeared to think — to be appre- 
 hensive that you might in future look to Mr. Dymes rather than 
 to him. Of course, I could say nothing — I would not venture a 
 syllable.'' 
 
 " Of course not," Alma murmured mechanically, her eyes 
 wandering. 
 
 " Are you likely, I wonder, to see him in the next few days ? " 
 
 " I hardly know — I think not." 
 
 " Then let me — will you ? — let me contrive a chance meeting 
 here ?" 
 
 Loathing herself, and burning with hatred of the woman, in 
 whose hands she felt powerless, Alma gave an assenting nod. 
 
 "I am sure it will be a measure of prudence, dear. I thought 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 249 
 
 possibly you might be seeing him at Mrs. Carnaby's. He is there 
 sometimes, I believe ? " 
 
 Alma looked at the speaker, detecting some special significance 
 in her inquiry. She replied that Redgrave of course called upon 
 Mrs. Carnaby — but not often, she thought. 
 
 " No ? " threw out Mrs. Strangeways. " I fancied he was there 
 a good deal; I don't quite know why." 
 
 " Have you met him there? " 
 
 " No. It's quite a long time since I called — one has so many 
 people to see." 
 
 Alma knew that Sibyl was now holding aloof from Mrs. Strange- 
 ways, and it seemed not improbable that this had excited some ill- 
 feeUng in the latter. But her own uneasiness regarding Sibyl's 
 relations with Redgrave, uneasiness never quite subdued, made 
 her quick to note, and eager to explore, any seeming suspicion on 
 that subject in another's mind. Mrs. Strangeways was a lover of 
 scandal, a dangerous woman, unworthy of confidence in any matter 
 whatsoever. Common prudence, to say nothing of loyalty to a 
 friend, bade Alma keep silence ; but the subtly interrogating smile 
 was fixed upon her ; hints continued to fall upon her ear, and an 
 evil fascination at length compelled her to speak. 
 
 " You know," she said, as if mentioning an unimportant piece of 
 news, " that Mr. Redgrave has joined Mr. Carnaby in business.' " 
 
 The listener's face exhibited a surprise of which there was no 
 mistaking the sincerity. Her very features seemed to undergo a 
 change as the smile vanished from them ; they became on the in- 
 stant hard and old, lined with sudden wrinkles, the inuscles tense, 
 every line expressive of fierce vigilance. 
 
 " In business ? — what business ? " 
 
 " Oh, I thought you would have heard of it. Perhaps Mr. Red- 
 grave doesn't care to have it known." 
 
 " My dear, I am discretion itself." 
 
 Everything was told, down to the last detail of which Alma had 
 any knowledge. As she listened and questioned, Mrs. Strangeways 
 resumed her smiling manner, but could not regain the perfect self- 
 command with which she had hitherto gossiped. That she attached 
 great importance to this news was evident, and the fact of its being 
 news to her brought fresh trouble into Alma's thoughts. 
 
 " How very interesting ! " exclaimed Mrs. Strangeways at length. 
 
250 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Another instance of Mr. Redgrave's kindness to his friends. Of 
 course, it was done purely out of kindness, and that is why he 
 doesn't speak of it. Quite amusing, isn't it, to think of him as 
 partner in a business of that kind. I wonder whether " 
 
 She broke off with a musing air. 
 
 " What were you wondering ? " asked Alma, whose agitation in- 
 creased every moment, though the seeming tendency of her com- 
 panion's words was to allay every doubt. 
 
 " Oh, only whether it was Mr. Carnaby who first made known 
 his difficulties." 
 
 " I am told so." 
 
 " By Mrs. Carnaby .' Yes, no doubt it was so. I don't think 
 Mrs. Carnaby could quite have — I mean she is a little reserved, 
 don't you think .' She would hardly have spoken about it to — to a 
 comparative stranger." 
 
 "But Mr. Redgrave can't be called a stranger,'' said Alma. 
 " They have been friends for a long time. Surely you know that." 
 
 " Friends in that sense ? The word has such different mean- 
 ings. You and Mr. Redgrave are friends, but I don't think you 
 would care to tell him if your husband were in difficulties of that 
 kind — would you .' " 
 
 " But Sibyl — Mrs. Carnaby didn't tell him," replied Alma, with 
 nervous vehemence. 
 
 " No, no ; we take that for granted. I don't think Mr. Carnaby 
 is — the kind of man " 
 
 " What kind of man ? " 
 
 " I hardly know him ; we have met, that's all. But I should 
 fancy he wouldn't care to know that his wife talked about such 
 things to Mr. Redgrave or any .one else. There are men " — her 
 voice sank, and the persistent smile became little better than an 
 ugly grin — " there are men who don't mind it. One hears stories 
 I shouldn't like to repeat to you, or even to hint at. But those are 
 very different people from the Carnabys. Then, I suppose,'' she 
 added, with abrupt turn, " Mr. Carnaby is very often away from 
 home.'' " 
 
 Trying to reply. Alma found her voice obstructed. 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " How very kind of Mr. Redgrave, wasn't it ! Has he spoken 
 about it \.oyou ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 231 
 
 " Of course not.'' 
 
 " Naturally, he wouldn't.— Oh, don't go yet, dear. Why, we 
 have had no tea ; it isn't four o'clock. Must you really go ? Of 
 course, you are overwhelmed with engagements. But do — do take 
 care of your health. And remember our little scheme. If Mr. 
 Redgrave could look in — say, the day after to-morrow ? You 
 shall hear from me in time. I feel — I really feel — that it wouldn't 
 be wise to let him think — you understand me ? " 
 
 With scarce a word of leave-taking, Alma hastened away. The 
 air of this room was stifling her, and the low cooing voice had 
 grown more intolerable than a clanging uproar. From Porchester 
 Terrace she walked into Bayswater Road, her eyes on the pave- 
 ment. It was a sunny afternoon, but there had been showers, 
 and now again large spots of rain began to fall. As she was 
 opening her umbrella, a cabman's voice appealed to her, and fixed 
 her purpose. She bade him drive her to Oxford and Cambridge 
 Mansions. 
 
 Sibyl was not at home. The maid-servant could not say when 
 she might return ; she had been absent since yesterday morning. 
 Unable to restrain herself. Alma inquired whether Mr. Carnaby 
 was in town. He was not ; he had been away for several days. 
 
 On the morrow a letter from Sibyl came to Pinner. She was 
 grieved to hear that Alma had called during her absence. Was it 
 anything of importance, or would it keep till she and Harvey came 
 to dine on Saturday ? "I have been down to Weymouth — not to 
 enjoy myself, but to see my mother. She says she is very ill, and 
 thinks it monstrous that I don't feel inclined to devote myself to 
 the care of her. Her illness, I am sure, is nothing but discontent 
 and bad temper, just because she feels herself dropping out of 
 society. She must get used to it. In any case, we could never 
 endure each other ; and how can I be expected to make any sac- 
 rifice for a mother who never gave me an hour of motherly care 
 from the day of my birth ? But you know all about this, and don't 
 want to hear of it again just when you are so busy. If there is 
 anything in the world I can do for you, let me know at once." 
 
 But for her conversation with Mrs. Strangeways, it would not 
 have occurred to Alma to doubt the truth of what Sibyl wrote ; as 
 it was, she tortured herself with dark surmises. Jealousy without 
 love, a passion scarcely intelligible to the ordinary man, is in 
 
252 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 woman common enough, and more often productive of disaster 
 than the jealousy which originates in nobler feeling. To suspect 
 that she was the plaything of Sibyl's subtlety, and that Redgrave 
 smiled at her simplicity in never having discovered an obvious rival, 
 fired her blood to the fever point. She could no longer balance 
 probabilities ; all the considerations which hitherto declared for 
 Sibyl's innocence lost their weight. Her over-excited mind, her 
 impaired health, were readily receptive of such poison as distilled 
 from the lips of Mrs. Strangeways. What she now desired was 
 proof. Only let evidence be afforded her, cost what it might ! 
 After that, she saw her way. 
 
 No ! Hugh Carnaby was assuredly not one of the men who 
 wink at their wives' dishonour, nor one of the men who go slink- 
 ing for a remedy to courts of law — or she mistook him strangely. 
 
 At receipt of the expected note from Porchester Terrace- — it 
 said merely, " Pray be here, if possible, at three to-morrow after- 
 noon" — she quivered with anticipation of seeing Redgrave. How 
 it was to come about, she did not ask, but Redgrave should not 
 part from her before she had obtained light upon his relations 
 with Sibyl. She believed herself irresistible if she chose to put 
 forth all her power. With two men, dangerous both of them, she 
 had played the game of her own interests, played it safely, and for 
 a long time ; she made them her instruments, mocking at their 
 hopes, holding them at arm's length, in spite of all their craft and 
 their vehemence. Only a very clever woman could do this. In 
 giddiness of self-admiration, she felt everything to be possible. 
 Boldness was neces.'ary — far more boldness than she had yet 
 dared to use. The rivalry of such a woman as Sibyl could not be 
 despised ; it threatened her ambitions. But in the struggle now 
 to be decided she had a supreme advantage ; for Sibyl, having 
 gained her object, assuredly had paid its price. Hence her pre- 
 tended absorption in study, hence the revival of her friendliness ; 
 what were these things but blinds to mislead the only woman 
 whose observation she had much reason to fear ? 
 
 How astonishing it now seemed to her that she could have ac- 
 cepted such shallow e.xplanations of Redgrave's partnership with 
 Hugh Carnaby I Why, Harvey himself, least suspicious of men, 
 was perplexed, and avowed his inability to understand it. As for 
 Mrs. Strangeways — a woman of the world, if there was one — the 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 253 
 
 fact had but to be mentioned to her, and on the moment she saw 
 its meaning. No wonder the matter had been kept so quiet. 
 But for the honesty of the duped husband no one at all would 
 have heard of it. 
 
 Arriving at the house a little before her time, she found her 
 hostess a prey to vexation. 
 
 " My dear, he can't come. It's most annoying. Only an hour 
 ago I had a telegram — look " 
 
 The despatch was from Coventry : " Don't expect me. De- 
 tained on business. Redgrave." It rustled in Alma's hand, and 
 she had much ado to keep herself from tears of angry chagrin. 
 
 "He had promised to be here," went on Mrs. Strangeways. 
 " I thought nothing would have kept him away.'' 
 
 " Do you mean," asked Alma bluntly, " that he knew I was 
 coming .' " 
 
 " I had said that I half expected you. Don't be vexed, dear. I 
 did so wish you to meet." 
 
 "If he's at Coventry," Alma continued, " it must be on that 
 business.'' 
 
 " It seems likely. Do sit down. You still look anything but 
 yourself. Pray, pray remember that you have only a day or 
 two " 
 
 " Don't worry me, please," said Alma, with a contemptuous 
 gesture. 
 
 She had thrown off reserve, caring only, now the first step was 
 taken, to make all possible use of this woman whom she detested. 
 Her voice showed the change that had been wrought in her ; she 
 addressed her hostess almost as though speaking to an inferior. 
 
 " What do you think it means, his keeping away ? " 
 
 " Business, possibly. More likely — the other thing I , spoke 
 of." 
 
 In this reply Mrs. Strangeways modified her tone, discarding 
 mellifluous tenderness, yet not going quite so far as Alma in 
 neglect of appearances. She was an older woman, and had learnt 
 the injudiciousness of impulsive behaviour. 
 
 " Speak plainly — it saves time. You think he won't care to 
 meet me at all again .' " 
 
 " I don't say that. I should be very sorry indeed to think it. 
 But — to speak as plainly as you wish, dear — I know that some one 
 
^54 
 
 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 must have said unpleasant things to him about your — your friend- 
 ship with Mr. Dymes." 
 
 "Are you hinting at any one in particular?" Alma asked, 
 salving her self-respect with a poor affectation of haughtiness. 
 
 " Ask yourself, my dear, who is at all likely to give him such in- 
 formation." 
 
 " Information ? " Alma's eyes flashed. " That's a strange word 
 to use. Do you imagine there is any information of that kind to 
 be given ? " 
 
 " I spoke carelessly," answered the other, smiling. " Do sit 
 down, dear Mrs. Rolfe. I'm sure you will overtax your strength 
 before Tuesday. I meant nothing whatever, I assure you." 
 
 Reluctantly Alma became seated, and their conversation was 
 prolonged. Without disguise they debated the probability that 
 Redgrave was being estranged from Alma by Sibyl Carnaby ; of 
 course, taking for granted Sibyl's guilt, and presuming that she 
 feared rivalry. From time to time Alma threw out scornful as- 
 sertion of her own security ; she was bold to the point of cynicism, 
 and recklessly revealed herself. The other listened attentively, 
 still smiling, but without constraint upon her features ; at moments 
 she appeared to fee! something of admiration. 
 
 " There are several things in your favour," she remarked de- 
 liberately, when Alma had declared a resolve to triumph at all 
 hazards. " Above all — but one need not mention it." 
 
 " What ? I don't understand. " 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure you do ! You alluded to it the other day. Some 
 women have such tiresome husbands.'' 
 
 The look which accompanied this struck Alma cold. She sat 
 motionless, staring at the speaker. 
 
 " What do you mean ? You think that my husband -? " 
 
 " I meant only to encourage you, my dear." 
 
 " You think that my husband has less sense of honour than Mr. 
 Carnaby ? " 
 
 Mrs. Strangeways looked wonderingly at her. 
 
 " How strange you are ! Could I have dreamt of saying any- 
 thing so ill-mannered ? " 
 
 " You implied it ! " exclaimed Alma, her voice thrilling on the 
 note of indignation. " How dare you so insult me ! Is it possi- 
 ble that you have such thoughts ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 255 
 
 Overcome by what seemed to her the humour of the situation, 
 Mrs. Strangeways frankly laughed. 
 
 " I beg your pardon a thousand times, my dear Mrs. Rolfe ! I 
 have misunderstood, I am afraid. You are quite serious ? Yes, 
 yes, there has been a misunderstanding. Pray forgive me." 
 
 Alma rose from her chair. " There has been a misunderstand- 
 ing. If you knew my husband — if you had once met him — such a 
 thought could never have entered your mind. You compare him 
 to his disadvantage with Mr. Carnaby .' What right have you to 
 do that? I believe in Mr. Carnaby' s honesty, and do you know 
 why ? — because he is my husband's friend. But for that, I should 
 suspect him." 
 
 " My dear," replied Mrs. Strangeways, "you are wonderful. I 
 prophesy good things for you. I never in my life met so interest- 
 ing a woman." 
 
 " You may be as sarcastic as you please," Alma retorted, in a 
 low, passionate voice. " I suppose you believe in no one } " 
 
 " I have said, dear, that I believe inyou / and I shall think it the 
 greatest misfortune if I lose your friendship for a mere indiscretion. 
 Indeed, I was only trying to understand you completely." 
 
 " You do — now." 
 
 They did not part in hostility. Mrs. Strangeways had the best 
 of reasons for averting this issue, at any cost to her own feelings, 
 which for the moment had all but escaped control. Though the 
 complications of Alma's character puzzled her exceedingly, she 
 knew how to smooth over the trouble which had so unexpectedly 
 arisen. Flattery was the secret of her influence with Mrs. Rolfe, 
 and it still availed her. With ostentation of frankness, she pointed 
 a contrast between Alma and her presumed rival. Mrs. Carnaby 
 was the corrupt, unscrupulous woman, who shrank from nothing 
 to gratify a base selfishness. Alma was the artist, pursuing a 
 legitimate ambition, using, as she had a perfect right to do, all her 
 natural resources, but pure in soul. 
 
 " Yes, I understand you at last, and I admire you more than 
 ever. You will go far, my dear. You have great gifts, and, more 
 than that, you have principle. It is character that tells in the long- 
 run. And depend upon me. I shall soon have news for you. 
 Keep quiet ; prepare yourself for next Tuesday. As for all that 
 — leave it to me." 
 
256 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 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 advan- 
 tage 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 de- 
 fended. 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. To- 
 day, again, she had a headache, and the scene with Mrs. Strange- 
 ways 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 to-day. 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 por- 
 trait ; 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 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 257 
 
 had dined from home together. Harvey would have shirked the 
 occasion, had it been possible. With great relief, he found that the 
 guests were all absolute strangers to him, and that they represented 
 society in its better sense, with no suggestion of the " half-world " 
 — no Mrs, Strangeways or Mrs. Rayner Mann. Alma, equally 
 conscious of the fact, viewed it as a calculated insult. Sibyl had 
 brought her here to humiliate her. She entered the doors with 
 jealous hatred boiling in her heart, and fixed her eyes on Sibyl 
 with such fire of malicious scrutiny that the answer was a gaze of 
 marked astonishment. But they had no opportunity for private 
 talk. Sibyl, as hostess, bore herself with that perfect manner 
 which no effort and no favour of circumstance would ever enable 
 Mrs. Rolfe to imitate. Envying every speech and every movement, 
 knowing that her own absent behaviour and forced talk must pro- 
 duce an unpleasant impression upon the well-bred strangers, she 
 longed to expose the things unspeakable that lay beneath this sur- 
 face of social brilliancy. What was more, she would do it when 
 time was ripe. Only this consciousness of power to crush her 
 enemy enabled her to bear up through the evening. 
 
 At the dinner-table she chanced to encounter Sibyl's look. She 
 smiled. There was disquiet in that glance— furtive inquiry and 
 apprehension. 
 
 No music. Alma would have doubted whether any of these 
 people were aware of her claim to distinction, had not a lady who 
 talked with her after dinner hinted, rather than announced, an in- 
 tention of being present at Prince's Hall next Tuesday. None of 
 the fuss and adulation to which she was grown accustomed ; no 
 underbred compliments ; no ambiguous glances from men. It an- 
 gered her to observe that Harvey did not seem at all wearied ; that 
 he conversed more naturally than usual in a mixed company, es- 
 pecially with the hostess. One whisper— and how would Harvey 
 look upon his friend's wife ? But the moment had not come. 
 
 She left as early as possible, parting from Sibyl as she had met 
 her, with eyes that scarce dissembled their malignity. 
 
 When Hugh and his wife were left together, Sibyl abstained 
 from remark on Alma ; it was Carnaby who introduced the subject. 
 " Don't you think Mrs. Rolfe looked seedy ? " 
 
 "Work and excitement," was the quiet answer. "I think it 
 more than likely she will break down." 
 
258 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " It's a confounded pity. Why, she has grown old all at once. 
 She's losing her good looks. Did you notice that her eyes were a 
 little bloodshot ? " 
 
 " Yes, I noticed it. I didn't like her look at all." 
 
 Hugh, 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 clinched, 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 mer- 
 rily. " 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 ac- 
 quaintance 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, any one 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 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 259 
 
 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. 
 
 CHATTER XII 
 
 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 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 indiffer- 
 ence ; she merely mentioned the fact to save Sibyl a possible dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 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 hypo- 
 crite 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 
 
26o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 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 to-morrow. 
 
 " 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 grow- 
 ing 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 to-morrow ? — oh yes, I shall certainly be back in time, un- 
 less anything very serious prevented me. There's a good train 
 from Weymouth at lo.io — gets in about half-past two. I shall 
 easily get to Prince's Hall by three." 
 
 Alma again regarded him, and seemed on the point of saying 
 something, but she turned her head, rose, and rather hastily took 
 leave. Hugh remarked to himself that she looked even worse by 
 daylight than in the evening ; decidedly, she was making herself ill 
 — perhaps, he added, the best thing that could happen. 
 
 For his luncheon he had small appetite. The journey before 
 him was a nuisance, and the meeting at the end of it more dis- 
 agreeable than anything he had ever undertaken. What a simple 
 matter life would be, but for women ! That Sibyl should detest 
 her mother was perhaps natural enough, all things considered ; but 
 he heartily wished they were on better terms. He felt that Sibyl 
 must have suffered in character, to some extent, by this abnormal 
 antipathy. He did not blame her ; her self defence this morning 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 261 
 
 proved that she had ground for judging her mother sternly ; and 
 perhaps, as she declared, only by her own strength and goodness 
 had she been saved from the worst results of parental neglect. 
 Hugh did not often meditate upon such things, but just now he 
 felt impatience and disgust with women who would not care pro- 
 perly for their children. Poor old Rolfe's wife, for instance, what 
 business had she to be running at large about London, giving con- 
 certs, making herself ill and ugly, whilst her little son was left to a 
 governess and servants ? He had half a mind to write a letter to 
 old Rolfe. But no ; that kind of thing was too dangerous, even 
 between the nearest friends . Men must not quarrel ; women did 
 more than enough of that. Sibyl and Alma had as good as fallen 
 out ; the less they saw of each other the better. And now he had 
 to face a woman, perhaps dying, who would doubtless rail by the 
 hour at her own daughter. 
 
 O heaven ! for a breath of air on sea or mountain or prairie ! 
 Could he stand this life much longer ? 
 
 Driving to Waterloo, he thought of Mrs. Larkfield's bequest to 
 the charitable institution. Six hundred pounds might be a paltry 
 income, but one could make use of it. A year ago, to be sure, he 
 would have felt more troubled by the loss ; at present he had reason 
 to look forward hopefully, so far as money could represent hope. 
 The cycle business was moving ; as likely as not, it would ultimately 
 enrich him. There was news, too, from that fellow Dando in 
 Queensland, who declared that his smelting process, gradually im- 
 proved, had begun to yield results, and talked of starting a new 
 company. Hugh's business of the morning had been in this con- 
 nection : by inquiry in the City he had learnt that Dando's report 
 might be relied upon, and that capital which had seemingly van- 
 ished would certainly yield a small dividend this year. He was 
 thankful that he could face Mrs. Larkfield without the shame of 
 interested motives. Let her do what she liked with her money ; 
 he went to see the woman merely out of humane feeling, sense of 
 duty ; and assuredly no fortune-hunter had ever imposed upon 
 himself a more distasteful office. 
 
 On alighting at the station, he found that the only coin, other 
 than gold, which he had in his pocket was a shilling. In accordance 
 with usage, he would have given the cabman an extra sixpence, 
 had he possessed it. When the man saw a tender of his legal fare, 
 
262 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 he, also in accordance with usage, broadened his mouth, tossed the 
 coin on his palm, and pointedly refrained from thanks. At another 
 time Hugh might have disregarded this professional suavity, but a 
 little thing exasperated his present mood. 
 
 " Well ? " he exclaimed, in a voice that drew the attention of 
 every one near. " Is it your fare or not ? Learn better manners, 
 vicious brute ! " 
 
 Before the driver could recover breath to shout a primitive insult, 
 Hugh walked into the station. Here, whilst his wrath was still 
 hot, a man tearing at full speed to catch a train on another plat- 
 form bumped violently against him. He clenched his fist, and, but 
 for the gasped apology, might have lost himself in blind rage. As 
 it was, he inwardly cursed railway stations, cursed England, cursed 
 civilisation. His muscles were quivering ; sweat had started to his 
 forehead. A specialist in nervous pathology would have judged 
 Hugh Carnaby a dangerous person on this Monday afternoon. 
 
 He took his ticket, and, having some minutes to wait, moved 
 towards the bookstall. By his side, as he scanned the papers, 
 stood a lady who had just made a purchase ; the salesman seemed 
 to have handed her insufficient change, for she said to him, 
 in a clear, business-like voice, " It was half-a-crown that I gave 
 you." 
 
 At the sound of these words, Hugh turned sharply and looked 
 at the speaker. She was a woman of thirty-five, solidly built, well 
 dressed without display of fashion ; the upper part of her face was 
 hidden by a grey veil, through which her eyes shone. Intent on 
 recovering her money, she did not notice that the man beside her 
 was looking and listening with the utmost keenness ; nor, on turning 
 away at length, was she aware that Hugh followed. He pursued 
 her, at a yard's distance, down the platform, and into the covered 
 passage which leads to another part of the station. Here, per- 
 haps because the footstep behind her sounded distinctly, sfie gave 
 a backward glance, and her veiled eyes met Carnaby 's. At once 
 he stepped to, her side. " I don't think I can be mistaken," were 
 his low, cautiously spoken words, whilst he gazed into her face 
 with stern fixedness. " You remember me, Mrs. Maskell, no 
 doubt." 
 
 " I do not, sir. You certainly are mistaken." 
 
 She replied in a voice which so admirably counterfeited a French 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 263 
 
 accent that Hugh could not but smile, even whilst setting his 
 teeth in anger at her impudence. 
 
 " Oh ! that settles it. As you have two tongues, you naturally 
 have two names — probably more. I happened to be standing by 
 you at the bookstall a moment ago. It's a great bore ; I was just 
 starting on a journey ; but I must trouble you to come with me to 
 the nearest police station. You have too much sense to make any 
 fuss about it." 
 
 The woman glanced this way and that. Two or three people 
 were hurrying through the passage, but they perceived nothing 
 unusual. 
 
 " You have a choice,'' said Carnaby, " between my companion- 
 ship and that of the policeman. Make up your mind." 
 
 " I don't think you will go so far as that, Mr. Carnaby,'' said 
 the other, with self-possession and in her natural voice. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because I can tell you something that will interest you very 
 much — something that nobody else can." 
 
 " What do you mean } " he said roughly. 
 
 " It refers to your wife ; that's all I need say just now." 
 
 " You are lying.'' 
 
 " As you please. Let us go." 
 
 She moved on with unhurried step, and turned towards the near- 
 est cab-rank. Pausing within sight of the vehicles, she looked 
 again at her companion. 
 
 " Would you rather have a little quiet talk with me in a four- 
 wheeler, or drive straight to ? " 
 
 Hugh'^ brain was in commotion. The hint of secrets concern- 
 ing his wife had not its full effect in the moment of utterance ; it 
 sounded the common artifice of a criminal. But Mrs. Maskell's 
 cool audacity gave significance to her words ; the two minutes' walk 
 had made Hugh as much afraid of her as she could be of him. He 
 stared at her, beset with horrible doubts. 
 
 " Won't it be a pity to miss your train ? " she said, with a friendly 
 smile. " I can give you my address." 
 
 " No doubt you can. Look here — it was a toss-up whether I 
 should let you go or not, until you said ikaL If you had begged 
 off, ten to one I should have thought I might as well save myself 
 trouble. But after that cursed lie " 
 
264 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " That's the second time you've used the word, Mr. Carnaby. 
 I'm not accustomed to it, and I shouldn't have thought you would 
 speak in that way to a lady. " 
 
 He was aghast at her assurance, which, for some reason, made 
 him only the more inclined to listen to her. He beckoned a cab. 
 
 " Where shall we drive to ? " 
 
 " Say Clapham Junction." 
 
 They entered the four-wheeler, and, as soon as it began to 
 move out of the station, Mrs. Maskell leaned back. Her claim to 
 be considered a lady suffered no contradiction from her look, her 
 movements, or her speech ; throughout the strange dialogue she 
 had behaved with remarkable self-command, and made use of the 
 aptest phrases without a sign of effort. In the years which had 
 elapsed since she filled the position of housekeeper to Mrs. Car- 
 naby, she seemed to have gained in the externals of refinement ; 
 though even at that time her manners were noticeably good. 
 
 " Raise your veil, please," said Hugh, when he had pulled up 
 the second window. 
 
 She obliged him, and showed a face of hard yet regular outline, 
 which would have been almost handsome but for its high cheek- 
 bones and coarse lips. 
 
 " And you have been going about all this time, openly ? " 
 
 "With discretion. I am not perfect, unfortunately. Rather 
 than lose sixpence at the bookstall, I forgot myself. That's a 
 woman's weakness ; we don't easily get over it." 
 
 " What put it into your head to speak of my wife ? " 
 
 " I had to gain time, had I not ? " 
 
 In a sudden burst of wrath, Hugh banged the window open ; 
 but, before he could call to the cabman, a voice sounded in his 
 ear, a clear quick whisper, the lips that spoke all but touching 
 him. 
 
 " Do you know that your wife is Mr. Redgrave's mistress ? " 
 
 He fell back. There was no blood in his face ; his eyes stared 
 hideously. 
 
 " Say that again, and I'll crush the life out of you ! " 
 
 " You look like it, but you won't. My information is too val- 
 uable. " 
 
 " It's the vilest lie ever spoken by whore and thief." 
 
 " You are not polite, Mr. Carnaby.'' 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 265 
 
 She still controlled herself, but in fear, as quick glances showed. 
 And her fear was not unreasonable ; the man glared murder. 
 
 " Stop that, and tell me what you have to say." 
 
 Mrs. Maskell raised the window again. 
 
 " You have compelled me, you see. It's a pity. I don't want 
 to make trouble." 
 
 " What do you know of Redgrave ? " 
 ' " 1 keep house for him at Wimbledon." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Yes. I have done so for about a year." 
 
 " And does he know who you are ? " 
 
 " Well — perhaps not quite. He engaged me on the Continent. 
 A friend of his (and of mine) recommended me, and he had 
 reason to think I should be trustworthy. Don't misunderstand 
 me. I am housekeeper — ri'en de plus. It's a position of confi- 
 dence. Mr. Redgrave — but you know him." 
 
 The listener's face was tumid and discolored, his eyes blood- 
 shot. With fearful intensity he watched every movement of Mrs. 
 Maskell's features. 
 
 " How do you know I know him ? " 
 
 " You've been at his place. I've seen you, though you didn't 
 see me ; and before I saw you I heard your voice. One remem- 
 bers voices, you know." 
 
 " Go on. What else have you seen or heard ? '' 
 
 " Mrs. Carnaby has been there too." 
 
 " I know that ! " Hugh shouted rather than spoke. " She wa^ 
 there with Mrs. Fenimore— Redgrave's sister, and several other 
 people." 
 
 " Yes ; last summer. I caught sight of her as she was sitting in 
 the veranda, and it amused me to think how little she suspected 
 who was looking at her. But she has been there since." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 Mrs. Maskell consulted her memory, and indicated a day in 
 the past winter. She could not at this moment recall the exact 
 date, but had a note of it. Mrs. Carnaby came at a late hour of 
 the evening, and left very early the next day." 
 
 " How are you going to make this lie seem probable ? " asked 
 Hugh, a change of voice betraying the dread with which he 
 awaited her answer ; for the time of which she spoke was ex- 
 
266 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 actly that when Redgrave had offered himself as a partner in the 
 firm of Mackintosh & Co. " Do you want me to believe that she 
 came and went so that every one could see lier ? " 
 
 " Oh no. I was new to the place then, and full of curiosity. I 
 have my own ways of getting to know what I wish to know. Re- 
 member, once more, that it's very easy to recognise a voice. I 
 told you that I was in a position of confidence. Whenever Mr. 
 Redgrave wishes for quietness, he has only to mention it ; our ser- 
 vants are well disciplined. L of course, am never seen by visitors, 
 whoever they may be, and whenever they come ; but it happens 
 occasionally that I see them, even when Mr. Redgrave doesn't 
 think it. Still, he is sometimes very careful indeed, and so he was 
 on that particular evening. You remember that his rooms have 
 French windows — a convenient arrangement. The front door 
 may be locked and bolted, but people come and go for all that." 
 
 " That's the bungalow, is it ? " muttered Carnaby. " And how 
 often do you pretend you have heard her voice ? " 
 
 " Only that once." 
 
 It was worse than if she had answered " Several times." Hugh 
 looked long at her, and she bore his gaze with indifference. 
 
 " You don't pretend that you saw her? " 
 
 "No, I didn't see her." 
 
 " Then, if you are not deliberately lying, you have made a mis- 
 take. " 
 
 Mrs. Maskell smiled and shook her head. 
 
 " What words did you hear ? " 
 
 " Oh — talk. Nothing very particular.'' 
 
 " I want to know what it was.'' 
 
 " Well, as far as I could make out, Mrs. Carnaby was going to 
 get a bicycle, and wanted to know what was the best. Not much 
 harm in that," she added, with a silent laugh. 
 
 Hugh sat with his hands on his knees, bending forward. He said 
 nothing for a minute or two, and at length looked to the window. 
 
 " You were going back to Wimbledon } " 
 
 " Yes. I have only been in town for an hour or two." 
 
 " Is Redgrave there ? " 
 
 " No ; he's away." 
 
 " Very well ; I am going with you. You will find out for me on 
 what date that happened." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 267 
 
 " Certainly. But what is the understanding between us ? " 
 
 Hugh saw too well that any threat would be idle. Whether this 
 woman had told the truth or not, her position in Redgrave's 
 house, and the fact of Redgrave's connection with the firm of 
 Mackintosh— of which she evidently was not aware— put it in her 
 power to strike a fatal blow at Sibyl. He still assured himself 
 that she was lying— how doubt it and maintain his sanity .?— but 
 the lie had a terrible support in circumstances. Who could hear 
 this story without admitting the plausibility of its details ? A 
 man such as Redgrave, wealthy and a bachelor ; a woman such 
 as Sibyl, beautiful, fond of luxurious living ; her husband in an 
 embarrassed position— how was it that he, a man of the world, 
 had never seen things in this light H Doubtless his anxiety had 
 blinded him ; that, and his absolute faith in Sibyl, and Redgrave's 
 frank friendliness. Even if he obtained (as he would) complete 
 evidence of Sibyl's honesty, Mrs. Maskell could still dare him to 
 take a step against her. How many people were at her mercy .'' 
 He might be sure that she would long ago have stood in the dock 
 but for her ability to make scandalous and ruinous revelations. 
 Did Redgrave know that he had a high-class criminal in his em- 
 ployment ? Possibly he knew it well enough. There was no end 
 to the appalling suggestiveness of this discovery. Hugh remem- 
 bered what he had said in talk with Harvey Rolfe about the 
 rottenness of society. Never had he felt himself so much a cow- 
 ard as in face of this woman, whose shameless smile covered 
 secrets and infamies innumerable. 
 
 The cabman was bidden drive on to Wimbledon, and, with long 
 pauses, the dialogue continued for an hour. Hugh interrogated 
 and cross-examined his companion on every matter of which' she 
 could be induced to speak, yet he learnt very little in detail concern- 
 ing either her own life or Redgrave's ; Mrs. Maskell was not to be 
 driven to any disclosure beyond what was essential to her own 
 purpose. By dint of skilful effrontery she had gained the upper 
 hand, and no longer felt the least fear of him. 
 
 " If I believed you," said Carnaby, at a certain point of their 
 conversation, " I should have you arrested straight away. It 
 wouldn't matter to me how the thing came out ; it would be pub- 
 lic property before long." 
 
 " Where would you find your witnesses .' " she asked. " Leave 
 
268 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 me alone, and I can be of use to you as no one else can. Behave 
 shabbily, and you only make yourself look foolish, bringing a 
 charge against your wife that you'll never be able to prove. You 
 would get no evidence from me. Whether you want it kept quiet 
 or want to bring it into court, you depend upon my goodwill." 
 
 They reached the end of the road in which was the approach to 
 Redgrave's house. 
 
 " You had better wait here," said the woman. " I shall be ten 
 minutes or a quarter of an hour. You needn't feel uneasy ; I 
 haven't the least intention of running away. Our interests are 
 mutual, and if you do your part you can trust me to do mine." 
 
 She stopped the cab, alighted, told the driver to wait, and wafked 
 quickly down the by-road. Hugh, drawn back into a corner, sat 
 with head drooping ; for a quarter of an hour he hardly stirred. 
 Twenty minutes, thirty minutes, passed, but Mrs. Maskell did not 
 show herself. At length, finding it impossible to sit still any 
 longer, he sprang out, and paced backwards and forwards. Vastly 
 to his relief, the woman at length appeared. 
 
 " He is there," she said. " I couldn't get away before." 
 
 " Is he alone ? " 
 
 " Yes. Don't do anything foolish.'' Carnaby had looked as if 
 he would move towards the house. " The slightest imprudence, 
 and you'll only harm yourself." 
 
 " Tell me that date." 
 
 She named it. 
 
 " I can't stay longer, and I advise you to get away. If you 
 want to write to me, you can do so without fear ; my letters are 
 quite safe. Address to Mrs. Lant. And remember !" 
 
 With a last significant look she turned and left him. Hugh, 
 mentally repeating the date he had learnt, walked back to the cab, 
 and told the man to drive him to the nearest railway station, which- 
 ever it was. 
 
 When he reached home, some four hours had elapsed since his 
 encounter with Mrs. Maskell (or Mrs. Lant) at Waterloo ; it 
 seemed to him a whole day. He had forgotten all about his pur- 
 posed journey to Weymouth. One sole desire had possession of 
 him — to stand face to face with Sibyl, and to see her innocence, 
 rather than hear it, as soon as he had brought his tongue to 
 repeat that foul calumny. He would then know how to deal 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 269 
 
 with the creature who thought to escape him by slandering his 
 wife. 
 
 He let himself in with his latch-key, and entered the drawing- 
 room ; it was vacant. He looked into other rooms ; no one was 
 there. He rang, and a servant came. 
 
 " Has Mrs. Carnaby been out long ? " 
 
 She had left, was the reply, at half-past two. While she sat at 
 luncheon a telegram arrived for her, and, soon after, she prepared 
 to go out, saying that she would not return to-night. 
 
 Not return to-night ? Hugh scarcely restrained an exclamation, 
 and had much ado to utter his next words. 
 
 *' Did she mention where she was going ? " 
 
 " No, sir. I took the dressing-bag down to the cab, and the cab- 
 man was told to drive to the post-office." 
 
 ''Very well. That will do." 
 
 " Shall you dine at home, sir ? " 
 
 "Dine? No." 
 
 Sibyl gone away for the night ? Where could she have gone to ? 
 He began to look about for the telegram she had received ; it might 
 belying somewhere, and possibly would explain her departure. In 
 the waste-paper basket he found the torn envelope lying at the 
 top ; but the despatch itself was not to be discovered. 
 
 Gone for the night ? and just when he was supposed to have 
 left town ?, The cabman told to drive to the post-office ? This 
 might be for the purpose of despatching a reply. Yet no ; the 
 reply would have been written at once and sent by the messenger 
 in the usual way. Unless— unless Sibyl, for some reason, pre- 
 ferred to send the message more privately ? Or again, she might 
 not care to let the servant know whither the cab was really to con- 
 vey her. 
 
 Sheer madness, all this. Had not Sibyl fifty legitimate ways of 
 spending a night from home ? Yet there was the fact that she 
 had tiever before done so unexpectedly. Never before ? 
 
 He looked at his watch ; half-past six. He rang the bell again. 
 
 " Has any one called since Mrs. Carnaby left home ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; there have been three calls. Mrs. Rolfe " 
 
 " Mrs. Rolfe ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. She seemed very disappointed. I told her Mrs. 
 Carnaby would not be back to-night." 
 
270 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " And the others ? " 
 
 Two persons of no account. Hugh dismissed them, and the 
 servant, with a wave of the hand. 
 
 He felt a faintness such as accompanies extreme hunger, but 
 had no inclination for food. The whisky bottle was a natural 
 resource ; a tumbler of right Scotch restored his circulation, and 
 in a few minutes gave him a raging appetite. He could not eat 
 here ; but eat he must, and that quickly. Seizing his hat, he ran 
 down the stairs, hailed a hansom, and drove to the nearest restau- 
 rant he could think of. 
 
 After eating without knowledge of the viands, and drinking a 
 bottle of claret in like unconsciousness, he smoked for half-an- 
 hour, his eyes vacantly set, his limbs lax and heavy, as though in 
 the torpor of difficult digestion. When the cigar was finished, he 
 roused himself, looked at the time, and asked for a railway guide. 
 There was a train to Wimbledon at ten minutes past eight ; he 
 might possibly catch it. Starting into sudden activity, he hastily 
 left the restaurant, and reached Waterloo Station with not a mo- 
 ment to spare. 
 
 At Wimbledon he took a cab, and was driven up the hill. 
 Under a clouded sky, dusk had already changed to darkness ; the 
 evening was warm and still. Impatient with what he thought the 
 slow progress of the vehicle, Hugh sat with his body bent for- 
 ward, straining as did the horse, on which his eyes were fixed, and 
 perspiring in the imaginary effort. The address he had given 
 was Mrs. Fenimore's ; but when he drew near he signalled to the 
 driver : " Stop at the gate. Don't drive up.'' 
 
 From the entrance to Mrs. Fenimore's round to the by-road 
 which was the direct approach to Redgrave's bungalow would be 
 a walk of some ten minutes. Hugh had his reasons for not taking 
 this direction. Having dismissed his cab, he entered by the lodge- 
 gate, and walked up the drive, moving quickly, and with a lighter 
 step than was natural to him. When he came within view of the 
 house, he turned aside, and made his way over, the grass, in the 
 deep shadow of leafy lime-trees, until the illumined windows were 
 again hidden from him. He had seen no one, and heard no sound. 
 A path which skirted the gardens would bring him in a few min- 
 utes to Redgrave's abode ; this he found and followed. 
 
 The bungalow was built in a corner of the park where previously 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 271 
 
 had stood a gardener's cottage; round about it grew a few old 
 trees, and on two sides spread a shrubbery, sheltering the newly 
 made lawn and flower-beds. Here it was very dark ; Hugh ad- 
 vanced cautiously, stopping now and then to listen. He reached 
 a point where the front of the house became visible. A light 
 shone at the door, but there was no movement, and Hugh could 
 hear only his own hard breathing. 
 
 He kept behind the laurels, and made a half circuit of the house. 
 On passing to the farther side, he would come within view of 
 those windows which opened so conveniently, as Mrs. Maskell 
 had said — the windows of Redgrave's sitting-room, drawing-room, 
 study, or whatever he called it. To this end it was necessary to 
 quit the cover of the shrubs and cross a lawn. As he stepped on 
 to the mown grass, his ear caught a sound, the sound of talking in 
 a subdued tone ; it came, he thought, from that side of the build- 
 ing which he could not yet see. A few quick silent steps, and 
 this conjecture became a certainty : some one was talking within 
 a few yards of him, just round the obstructing corner, and he felt 
 sure the voice was Redgrave's. It paused ; another voice made 
 reply, but in so low a murmur that its accents were not to be re- 
 cognised. That it was the voice of a woman the listener had no 
 doubt. Spurred by a choking anguish, he moved forward. He 
 saw two figures standing in a dim light from the window-door— a 
 man and a woman ; the man bare-headed, his companion in out- 
 door clothing. At the same moment he himself was perceived. 
 He heard a hurried " Go in ! " and at once the woman disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Face to face with Redgrave, he looked at the window ; but the 
 curtain which dulled the light from within concealed everything. 
 
 " Who was that ? " 
 
 >' Why— Carnaby } What the deuce ? " 
 
 "Who was that?" 
 
 " Who ? — what do you mean ? " 
 
 Carnaby took a step; Redgrave laid, an arresting hand upon 
 him. There needed but this touch. In frenzied wrath, yet with 
 the precision of trained muscle, Hugh struck out ; and Redgrave 
 went down before him— thudding upon the floor of the veranda 
 like one who falls dead. 
 
272 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 CHAPTER Xni 
 
 He forced the window ; he rushed into the room, and there be- 
 fore him, pallid, trembling, agonising, stood Alma Rolfe. 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 She panted incoherent phrases. She was here to speak with 
 Mr. Redgrave on business— about her concert to-morrow. She 
 had not entered the house until this moment. She had met Mr. 
 Redgrave in the garden 
 
 " What is that to me ? " broke in Hugh, staring wildly, his fist 
 still clenched. " I am not your husband." 
 
 " Mr. Carnaby, you will believe me ? I came for a minute or 
 two — to speak about " 
 
 " It's nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe," he again interrupted her, in a 
 hoarse, faint voice. " What have I done ? " He looked to the 
 window, whence came no sound. " Have I gone mad ? By God, 
 I almost fear it ! " 
 
 " You believe me, Mr. Carnaby ? " She moved to him and 
 seized his hand. " You know me too well — you know I couldn't 
 — say you believe me ! Say one kind, friendly word ! " 
 
 She looked distracted. Clinging to his hand, she burst into 
 tears. But Hugh hardly noticed her ; he kept turning towards the 
 window, with eyes of unutterable misery. 
 
 " Wait here ; I'll come back." 
 
 He stepped out from the window, and saw that Redgrave lay 
 just where he had fallen — straight, still, his face turned upwards. 
 Hugh stooped, and moved him into the light ; the face was deathly 
 — placid, but for its wide eyes, which seemed to look at his enemy. 
 No blood upon the lips ; no sign of violence. 
 
 " Where did I hit him ? He fell with his head against some- 
 thing, I suppose." 
 
 From the parted lips there issued no perceptible breath. A fear, 
 which was more than half astonishment, took hold upon Carnaby. 
 He looked up — for the light was all at once obstructed — and saw 
 Alma gazing at him. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked in a terrified whisper. " Why is he 
 lying there ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 273 
 
 " I struck him— he is unconscious." 
 
 " Struck him? " 
 
 He drew her into the room again. 
 
 " Mrs. Rolfe, I shall most likely have to send for help. You 
 mustn't be seen here. It's nothing to me why you came— yes, yes, 
 I believe you— but you must go at once." 
 
 " You won't speak of it ? " 
 
 Her appeal was that of a child, helpless in calamity. Again she 
 caught his hand, as if clinging for protection. Hugh replied in 
 thick, hurried tones. 
 
 " I have enough trouble of my own. This is no place for you. 
 For your own sake, if not for your husband's keep away from here. 
 I came because some one was telling foul lies— the kind of lies that 
 drive a man mad. Whatever happens— whatever you hear— don't 
 imagine that she is to blame. You understand me ? " 
 
 " No word shall ever pass my lips.'' 
 
 " Go at once. Get home as soon as you can." 
 
 Alma turned to go. Outside, she cast one glance at the dark, 
 silent, unmoving form, then bowed her head, and hastened away 
 into the darkness. 
 
 Again Hugh knelt by Redgrave's side, raised his head, listened 
 for the beating of his heart, tried to feel his breath. He then 
 dragged him into the room, and placed him upon a divan ; he 
 loosened the fastenings about his neck ; the head drooped, and 
 there was not a sign of life. Next he looked for a bell ; the elec- 
 tric button caught his eye, and he pressed it. To prevent any one 
 from coming in, he took his stand close by the door. In a 
 moment there was a knock, the door opened, and he showed his 
 face to the surprised maid-servant. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Lant in the house? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Mr. Redgrave wants her at once ; he is ill." 
 The servant vanished. Keeping his place at the door, and look- 
 ing out into the hall, Hugh, for a full two minutes, heard no move- 
 ment ; then he was startled by a low voice immediately behind him. 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 The housekeeper, who had entered from the garden, and ap- 
 proached in perfect silence, stood gazing at him ; not unconcerned, 
 but with full command of herself. 
 
274 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Look ! " he replied, pointing to the figure on the divan. " Is 
 he only insensible — or dead ? " 
 
 She stepped across the room, and made a brief examination by 
 the methods Carnaby himself had used. 
 
 " I never saw any one look more like dead," was her quiet re- 
 mark. " What have you been up to .' A little quiet murder.? " 
 
 ■■ I met him outside. We quarrelled, and I knocked him down." 
 
 " And why are you here at all ? " asked the woman, with fierce 
 eyes, though her voice kept its ordinary level. 
 
 " Because of you and your talk — curse you ! Can't you do 
 something ? Get some brandy ; and send some one for a doctor." 
 
 " Are you going to be found here .' " she inquired meaningly. 
 
 Hugh drew a deep breath, and stared at the silent figure. For 
 an instant his face showed irresolution ; then it changed, and he 
 said harshly — " Yes, I am. Do as I told you. Get the spirits, 
 and send some one — sharp ! " 
 
 " Mr. Carnaby, you're a great blundering thickhead — if you care 
 for my opinion of you. You deserve all you've got and all you'll 
 get." 
 
 Hugh again breathed deeply. The woman's abuse was nothing 
 to him. 
 
 " Are you going to do anything ? " he said. "Or shall I ring 
 for some one else ? " 
 
 She left the room, and speedily returned with a decanter of 
 brandy. All their exertions proved useless ; the head hung aside, 
 the eyes stared. In a few minutes Carnaby asked whether a doc- 
 tor had been sent for. 
 
 " Yes. When I hear him at the door I shall go away. You 
 came here against my advice, and you've made a pretty job of it. 
 Well, you'll always get work at a slaughter-house." 
 
 Her laugh was harder to bear than the words it followed. 
 Hugh, with a terrible look, waved her away from him. 
 
 " Go — or I don't know what I may do next. Take yourself out 
 of my sight ! — out ! " 
 
 She gave way before him, backing to the door ; there she 
 laughed again, waved her hand in a contemptuous farewell, and 
 withdrew. 
 
 For half-an-hour Carnaby stood by the divan, or paced the 
 room. Once or twice he imagined a movement of Redgrave's 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 275 
 
 features, and bent to regard them closely ; but in truth there was 
 no slightest change. Within doors and without prevailed un- 
 broken silence ; not a step, not a rustle. The room seemed to 
 grow intolerably hot. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Hugh 
 went to the window and opened it a few inches ; a scent of vegeta- 
 tion and of fresh earth came to him with the cool air. He noticed 
 that rain had begun to fall, large drops pattering softly on leaves 
 and grass and the roof of the veranda. Then sounded the rolling 
 of carriage wheels, nearer and nearer. It was the doctor's car- 
 riage, no doubt. 
 
 Uncertainty soon came to an end. Cyrus Redgrave was be- 
 yond help : he must have breathed his last — so said the doctor — 
 at the moment when he fell. Not as a result of the fall ; the blow 
 of Carnaby's fist had killed him. There is one stroke which, if 
 delivered with sufficient accuracy and sufficient force, will slay 
 more surely than any other : it is the stroke which catches an up- 
 lifted chin just at the right angle to drive the head back and 
 shatter the spinal cord. This had plainly happened. The man's 
 neck was broken, and he died on the spot. 
 
 Carnaby and the doctor stood regarding each other. They 
 spoke in subdued voices. 
 
 " It was not a fight, you say ? " 
 
 " One blow from me, that was all. He said something that 
 maddened me." 
 
 " Shall you report yourself ? " 
 
 " Yes. Here is my card." 
 
 " A sad business, Mr. Carnaby. Can I be of any use to you ? " 
 
 " You can— though I hesitate to ask it. Mrs. Fenimore should 
 be told at once. I can't do that myself." 
 
 " I know Mrs. Fenimore very well. I will see her— if she is at 
 home." 
 
 On this errand the doctor set forth. As soon as he was gone, 
 Hugh rang the bell ; the same domestic as before answered it, and 
 again he asked for Mrs. Lant. He waited five minutes ; the ser- 
 vant came back, saying that Mrs. Lant was not in the house. 
 This did not greatly surprise him, but he insisted on a repetition 
 of the search. Mrs. Lant could not be found. Evidently her dis- 
 appearance was a mystery to this young woman, who seemed in- 
 genuous to the point of simple-mindedness. 
 
2^6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " You are not to go into that room," said Hugli. (They were 
 talking in the hall.) " The doctor will return presently." 
 
 And therewith he left the house. But not the grounds ; for in 
 rain and darkness he stood watching from a place of concealment, 
 watching at the same time Redgrave's curtained window and the 
 front entrance. His patience was not overtaxed. There sounded 
 an approaching vehicle ; it came up the drive and stopped at the 
 front door, where at once alighted the doctor and a lady. Hugh's 
 espial was at an end. As the two stepped into the house he 
 walked quickly away. 
 
 Yes, he would " report himself," but not until he had seen Sibyl. 
 To that end he must go home and wait there. The people at 
 Wimbledon, who doubtless would communicate with the police, 
 might cause him to be arrested before his wife's return. He feared 
 this much more than what was to follow. Worse than anything 
 that could befall him would be to lose the opportunity of speaking 
 in private with Sibyl before she knew what had happened. 
 
 In the early hours of the morning he lay down upon his bed 
 and had snatches of troubled sleep. Knowing that he was wrong- 
 in the particular surmise which led him to Redgrave's house, Sibyl's 
 absence no longer disturbed him with suspicions ; a few hours 
 would banish from his mind the last doubt of her, if any really re- 
 mained. He had played the madman, bringing ruin upon himself 
 and misery incalculable upon his wife, just because that thieving 
 woman lied to him. She, of course, had made her speedy escape ; 
 and was it not as well ? For, if the whole story became known, 
 what hope was there that Sibyl would come out of it with untar- 
 nished fame ? Merely for malice' sake, the woman would repeat 
 and magnify her calumnies. If she successfully concealed herself, 
 it might be possible to avoid a mention of Sibyl's name. He im- 
 agined various devices for this purpose, his brain plotting even 
 when he slept. 
 
 To Alma Rolfe he gave scarcely a thought. If the worst were 
 true of her, Rolfe had only to thank his own absurdity, which 
 allowed such a conceited simpleton to do as she chose. The case 
 looked black against her. Well, she had had her lesson, and in 
 that quarter could come to no more harm. What sort of an ap- 
 pearance was she likely to make at Prince's Hall to-day ? — 
 feather-headed fool ! 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 277 
 
 Before five o'clock the sunlight streamed into his bedroom. 
 Sparrows twittered about the window, and somewhere close by, 
 perhaps in a neighbour's flat, a caged throstle piped as though it 
 were in the fields. Then began the street noises, and Hugh could 
 lie still no longer. Remembering that at any moment his freedom 
 might come to an end, he applied himself to arranging certain 
 important matters. The housemaid came upon him with surprise ; 
 he bade her get breakfast, and, when the meal was ready, partook 
 of it with moderate appetite. 
 
 The postman brought letters ; nothing of interest for him, and 
 for Sibyl only an envelope which, as one could feel, contained a 
 mere card of invitation. But soon after nine o'clock there arrived 
 a telegram. It was from Sibyl herself, and — from Weymouth. 
 
 " Why are you not here ? She died yesterday. If this reaches 
 you, reply at once.'' 
 
 He flung the scrap of paper aside and Faughed. Of all natural 
 explanations, this, of course, had never occurred to him. Yester- 
 day's telegram told of Mrs. Larkfield's serious condition, and Sibyl 
 had started at once for Weymouth, expecting to meet him there. 
 One word of hers to the servant and he would simply have fol- 
 lowed her. But Sibyl saw no necessity for that word. She was 
 always reserved with domestics. 
 
 By the messenger, he despatched a reply. He would be at 
 Weymouth as soon as possible. 
 
 He incurred the risk of appearing to run away ; but that mat- 
 tered little. Sibyl could hardly return before her mother's burial, and 
 by going yonder to see her he escaped the worse danger, probably 
 the certainty, of arrest before any possible meeting with her in 
 London. Dreading this more than ever, he made ready in a few 
 minutes ; the telegraph boy had hardly left the building before 
 Hugh followed. A glance at the time-tables had shown him that, 
 if he travelled by the Great- Western, he could reach Weymouth at 
 five minutes past four ; whereas the first train he could catch at 
 Waterloo would not bring him to his destination until half-an-hour 
 later ; on the other hand, he could get away from London by the 
 South- Western forty minutes sooner than by the other line, and 
 this decided him. Yesterday, Waterloo had been merely the more 
 convenient station on account of his business in town ; to-day he 
 chose it because he had to evade arrest on a charge of homicide. 
 
278 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 So comforted was he by the news from Sibyl, that he could reflect 
 on this joke of destiny, and grimly smile at it. 
 
 At the end of his journey he betook himself to an hotel, and im- 
 mediately sent a message to Sibyl. Before her arrival he had 
 swallowed meat and drink. He waited for her in a private room, 
 which looked seaward. The sight of the blue channel, the smell 
 of salt breezes, made his heart ache. He was standing at the win- 
 dow, watching a steamer that had just left port, when Sibyl entered ; 
 he turned and looked at her in silence. 
 
 " What are these mysterious movements ? " she asked, coming 
 forward with a smile. " Why did you alter your mind yester- 
 day ? " 
 
 " I wasn't well." 
 
 He could say nothing more, yet. Sibyl's face was so tranquil, 
 and she seemed so glad to rejoin him, that his tongue refused to 
 utter any alarming word ; and the more he searched her counte- 
 nance, the more detestable did it seem that he should insult her by 
 the semblance of a doubt. 
 
 " Not well ? Indeed, you look dreadfully out of sorts. How 
 long had I been gone when you got home again ? " 
 
 " An hour or two. But tell me first about your mother. She 
 died before you came ? " 
 
 " Very soon after they sent the telegram.'' 
 
 Gravely, but with no affectation of distress, she related the cir- 
 cumstances ; making known, finally, that Mrs. Larkfield had died 
 intestate. 
 
 " You are quite sure of that? " asked Hugh, with an eagerness 
 which surprised her. 
 
 " Quite. Almost with her last breath she talked about it, and 
 said that she must make her will. And she had spoken of it 
 several times lately. The people there knew all about her affairs. 
 She kept putting it off — and as likely as not she wished the money 
 to be mine, after all. I am sure she must have felt that she owed 
 me something." 
 
 Carnaby experienced a profound relief. Sibyl was now provided 
 for, whatever turn his affairs might take. She had seated herself 
 by the window, and, with her gloved hands crossed upon her lap, 
 was gazing absently towards the sea. How great must be her 
 relief ! thought Hugh. And still he looked at her smooth, pure 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 279 
 
 features ; at her placid eyes, in whicli, after all, he seemed to detect 
 a little natural sadness ; and the accusation in his mind assumed so 
 grotesque an incredibility that he asked himself how he should 
 dare to hint at it. 
 
 "Sibyl " 
 
 " Isn't there something you haven't told me ? " she said, regard- 
 ing him with anxiety, when he had just uttered her name and then 
 averted his look. " I never saw you look so ill." 
 
 " Yes, dear, there is something." 
 
 It was not often he spoke so gently. Sibyl waited, one of her 
 hands clasping the other, and her lips close set. 
 
 " I was at Wimbledon last night — at Redgrave's." 
 
 He paused again, for the last word choked him. Unless it were 
 a tremor of the eyelids, no movement betrayed itself in Sibyl's fea- 
 tures ; yet their expression had grown cold, and seemed upon the 
 verge of a disdainful wonder. The pupils of her eyes insensibly di- 
 lated, as though to challenge scrutiny and defy it. 
 
 " What of that .' " she said, when his silence urged her to 
 speak. 
 
 " Something happened between us. We quarrelled." 
 
 Her lips suddenly parted, and he heard her quick breath ; but 
 the look that followed was of mere astonishment, and in a moment, 
 before she spoke, it softened in a smile. 
 
 " This is your dreadful news ? You quarrelled — and he is go- 
 ing to withdraw from the business. Oh, my dear boy, how ridicu- 
 lous you are ! I thought all sorts of horrible things. Were you 
 afraid I should make an outcry ? And you have worried yourself 
 into illness about this? Oh, foolish fellow ! " 
 
 Before she ceased, her voice was broken with laughter — a laugh 
 of extravagant gaiety, of mocking mirth, that brought the blood to 
 her face and shook her from head to foot. Only when she saw 
 that her husband's gloom underwent no change did this merri- 
 ment cease. Then, with abrupt gravity, which was almost annoy- 
 ance, her eyes shining with moisture and her cheeks flushed, she 
 asked him — 
 
 "Isn't that it?" 
 
 " Worse than that," Hugh answered. 
 
 But he spoke more freely, for he no longer felt obliged to watch 
 her countenance. His duty now was to soften the outrage involved 
 
28o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 in repeating Mrs. Maskell's fiction by making plain his absolute 
 faith in her, and to contrive his story so as to omit all mention of 
 a third person's presence at the fatal interview. 
 
 " Then do tell me and have done ! " exclaimed Sibyl, almost 
 petulantly. 
 
 " We quarrelled — and I struck him — and the blow was fatal. " 
 
 " Fatal ? — you mean he was killed ? " 
 
 The blood vanished from her face, leaving pale horror. 
 
 " A terrible accident — a blow that happened to — I couldn't be- 
 lieve it till the doctor came and said he was dead." 
 
 " But tell me more. What led to it ? How could you strike 
 Mr. Redgrave .' " 
 
 Sibyl had all at once subdued her voice to an excessive calmness. 
 Her hands were trembling ; she folded them again upon her lap. 
 Every line of her face, every muscle of her body, declared the 
 constraint in which she held herself. This, said Hugh inwardly, 
 was no more than he had expected ; disaster made noble proof of 
 Sibyl's strength. 
 
 " I'll tell you from the beginning." 
 
 He recounted faithfully the incidents at Waterloo Station, and 
 the beginning of Mrs. Maskell's narrative in the cab. At the dis- 
 closure of her relations with Redgrave, he was interrupted by a 
 short, hard laugh. 
 
 " I couldn't help it, Hugh. That woman ! — why, you have always 
 said you were sure to meet her somewhere. Housekeeper at Mr. 
 Redgrave's ! We know what the end of that would be ! " 
 
 Sibyl talked rapidly, in an excited chatter — the kind of utterance 
 never heard upon her lips. 
 
 " It was strange," Hugh continued. " Seems to have been 
 mere chance. Then she began to say that she had learnt some of 
 Redgrave's secrets — about people who came and went mysteriously. 
 And then — Sibyl, I can't speak the words. It was the foulest 
 slander that she could have invented. She meant to drive me 
 mad, and she succeeded — curse her!" 
 
 Drops of anguish stood upon his forehead. He sprang up and 
 crossed the room. Turning again, he saw his wife gazing at him, 
 as if in utmost perplexity. 
 
 " Hugh, I don't in the least understand you. What was the 
 slander ? Perhaps I am stupid — but " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 281 
 
 He came near, but could not look her in the eyes. 
 
 " My dearest " — his voice shook — " it was an infamous lie about 
 you— that you had been there " 
 
 " Why, of course I have ! You know that I have." 
 
 " She meant more than that. She said you had been there 
 secretly — at night " 
 
 Hugh Carnaby — the man who had lived as high-blooded men 
 do live, who had laughed by the camp-fire or in the club smoking- 
 room at many a Rabelaisian story and capped it with another, 
 who hated mock modesty, was all for honest openness between 
 man and woman — stood in guilty embarrassment before his own 
 wife's face of innocence. It would have been a sheer impossibility 
 for him to ask her where and how she spent a certain evening last 
 winter ; Sibyl, now as ever, was his ideal of chaste womanhood. 
 He scorned himself for what he had yet to tell. 
 
 Sibyl was gazing at him, steadily, inquiringly. 
 
 " She made you believe this ? " fell upon the silence, in her 
 softest, clearest tones. 
 
 " No ! She couldn't make me believe it. But the artful devil 
 had such a way of talking " 
 
 " I understand. You didn't know whether to believe or not. 
 Just tell me, please, what proof she offered you." 
 
 Hugh hung his head. 
 
 "She had heard you talking — in' the house — on a certain 
 night — -" 
 
 He looked up timidly, and met a flash of derisive scorn. 
 
 " She heard me talking .-' Hugh, I really don't see much art in 
 this. You seem to have been wrought upon rather easily. It 
 never occurred to you, I suppose, to ask for a precise date ? " 
 
 He mentioned the day, and Sibyl, turning her head a little, ap- 
 peared to reflect. 
 
 " It's unfortunate ; I remember nothing whatever of that date. 
 I'nrafraid, Hugh, that I couldn't possibly prove an alibi." 
 
 Her smiling sarcasm made the man wince. His broad shoulders 
 shrank together ; he stood in an awkward, swaying posture. 
 
 " Dear, I told her she lied !" 
 
 " That was very courageous. But what came next ? You had 
 the happy idea of going to Wimbledon to make personal in- 
 quiries ? " 
 
282 THE WHIRLPOOL- 
 
 " Try to put yourself in my place, Sibyl," he pleaded. " Re- 
 member all the circumstances. Can't you see the danger of such a 
 lie as that ? I went home, hoping to find you there. But you had 
 gone, and nobody knew where — you wouldn't be back that night. 
 A telegram had called you away, I was told. When I asked where 
 you told the cabman to drive you to — the post-office." 
 
 " Oh, it looked very black ! — yes, yes, I quite understand. The 
 facts are so commonplace that I'm really ashamed to mention 
 them. At luncheon-time came an urgent telegram from Wey- 
 mouth. I sent no reply then, because I thought I knew that you 
 were on your way. But when I was ready to start, it occurred to 
 me that I should save you trouble by wiring that I should join 
 you as soon as possible — so I drove to the post-office before going 
 to Paddington. — Well, you rushed off to Wimbledon .' " 
 
 " Not till later, and because I was suffering damnably. If I 
 hadn't been — what would it have meant ? When a man thinks as 
 much of his wife as I do of you " 
 
 " He has a right to imagine anything of her," she interrupted in 
 a changed tone, gently reproachful, softening to tenderness. A 
 singularity of Sibyl's demeanour was that she seemed utterly for- 
 getful of the dire position in which her husband stood. One 
 would have thought that she had no concern beyond the refuta- 
 tion of an idle charge, which angered her indeed, but afforded 
 scope for irony, possibly for play of wit. For the moment, Hugh 
 himself had almost forgotten the worst ; but he was bidden to pro- 
 ceed, and again his heart sank. 
 
 " I went there in the evening. Redgrave happened to be out- 
 side — in that veranda of his. I saw him as I came near in the 
 dark, and I fancied that — that he had been talking to some one in 
 the room — through the folding windows. I went up to him 
 quickly, and as soon as he saw me he pulled the windowj^to. 
 After that — I only remember that I was raving mad. He seemed 
 to want to stop me, and I struck at him — and that was the end." 
 
 Sibyl shuddered. 
 
 " You went into the room ? " 
 
 " Yes. No one was there." 
 
 Both kept silence. Sibyl had become very grave, and was. 
 thinking intently. Then, with a few brief questions, vigilant, pre- 
 cise, she learnt all that had taken place between Hugh and Mrs. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 283 
 
 Maskell, between Hugh and the doctor; heard of the woman's 
 disappearance, and of Mrs. Fenimore's arrival on the scene. 
 
 " What shall you do now } " 
 
 " Go back and give myself up. What else can I do ? " 
 
 " And tell everything— as you have told it to me.? " 
 
 Hugh met her eyes and moved his arms in a gesture of misery. 
 
 ■■ No ! I will think of something. He is dead, and can't con- 
 tradict ; and the woman will hide— trust her. Your name shan't 
 come into it at all. I owe you that, Sibyl. I'll find some cause 
 for a quarrel with him. Your name shan't be spoken." 
 
 She listened, her eyes down, her forehead lined in thought. 
 " I know what ! " Hugh exclaimed, with gloomy resolve. 
 " That woman— of course, there'll be a mystery, and she'll be 
 searched for. "Why" — he blustered against his shame — "why 
 shouldn't she be the cause of it ? Yes, that would do." 
 
 His hoarse laugh caused a tremor in Sibyl ; she rose and 
 stepped close to him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " So far you have advised yourself. Will you let me advise you 
 now, dear ? " 
 
 " Wouldn't that seem likely ? " 
 
 " I think not. And if it did — what is the result ? You will be 
 dealt with much more severely. Don't you see that } " 
 
 " What's that to me ? What do I care so long as you are out of 
 the vile business ? You will have no difficulties. Your mother's 
 money ; and then Mackintosh " 
 
 "And is that all? " asked Sibyl, with a look which seemed to 
 wonder profoundly. " Am I to think only of my own safety ? " 
 
 "It's all my cursed fault — just because I'm a fierce, strong 
 brute, who ought to be anywhere but among civilised people. I've 
 killed the man who meant me nothing but kindness. Am I going 
 to drag j/our name into the mud — to set people grinning and 
 winking ? " 
 
 " Be quiet, Hugh, and listen. I have a much clearer head than 
 yours, poor boy. There's only one way of facing this scandal, 
 and that is to tell everything. For one thing, I shall not let you 
 shield that woman — we shall catch her yet. I shall not let you 
 disgrace yourself by inventing squalid stories. Don't you see, too, 
 that the disgrace would be shared by — by the dead man ? Would 
 that be right ? And another thing — if shame comes upon you, do 
 
284 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 you think I have no part in it ? We have to face it out with 
 the truth." 
 
 " You don't know what that means," he answered, with a groan. 
 "You don't know the world." 
 
 Sibyl did not smile, but her lips seemed only to check them- 
 selves when the smile was half born. 
 
 " I know enough of it, Hugh, to despise it ; and I know you 
 much better than you know yourself. You are not one of the 
 men who can tell lies and make them seem the truth. I don't 
 think my name will suffer. I shall stand by you from first to last. 
 The real true story can't possibly be improved upon. That 
 woman had every motive for deceiving you, and her disappearance 
 is all against her. You have to confess your hot-headedness — 
 that can't be helped. You tell everything — even down to the mis- 
 take about the telegram. I shall go with you to the police-station ; 
 I shall be at the inquest ; I shall be at the court. It's the only 
 chance." 
 
 ■' Good God ! how can I let you do this ? " 
 
 " You had rather, then, that I seemed to hide away ? You 
 had rather set people thinking that there is coldness between us ? 
 W^e must go up to-night. Look out the trains, quick.'' 
 
 " But your mother, Sibyl " 
 
 " She is dead ; she cares nothing. I have to think of my hus- 
 band." 
 
 Hugh caught her and crushed her in his arms. 
 
 " My darling, worse than killing a man who never harmed me 
 was to think wrong of you ! " 
 
 Her face had grown very pale. She closed her eyes, smiled 
 faintly as she leaned her head against him, and of a sudden burst 
 into tears. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 " It shows one's ignorance of such matters," said Harvey Rolfe, 
 with something of causticity in his humour, when Alma came 
 home after midnight. " I should iiave thought that, by way of 
 preparing for to-morrow, you would have quietly rested to-day." 
 
 He looked round at her. Alma had entered the study as usual, 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 285 
 
 and was taking off her gloves ; but the effort of supporting her- 
 self seemed too great, she trembled towards the nearest chair, 
 and affected to laugh at her feebleness as she sank down. 
 
 " Rest will come after," she said, in such a voice as sounds 
 from a parched and quivering throat. 
 
 " I'll take good care of that," Harvey remarked. " To look at 
 you is almost enough to make me play the brutal husband, and 
 say that I'll be hanged if you go out to-morrow at all." 
 She laughed— a ghostly merriment. 
 " Where have you been ? " 
 
 " Oh, at several places. I met Mr. Carnaby at lunch," she 
 added quickly. " He told me he was going somewhere— I forget 
 —oh, to Weymouth, to see Mrs. Larkfield." 
 
 Harvey was watching her, and paid little attention to the news. 
 " Do you know, it wouldn't much surprise me if you couldn't 
 get up to-morrow morning, let alone play at a concert. Well, I 
 won't keep you talking. Go to bed." 
 "Yes." 
 
 She rose, but instead of turning to the door, moved towards 
 where Harvey was sitting. 
 
 " Don't be angry with me," she murmured in a shamefaced 
 way. " It wasn't very wise — I've over-excited myself — but I shall 
 be all right to-morrow ; and afterwards I'll behave more sensibly 
 
 — I promise " 
 
 He nodded ; but Alma bent over him, and touched his forehead 
 with her lips. 
 " You're in a fever, I suppose you know ? " 
 " I shall be all right to-morrow. Good-night, dear." 
 In town, this morning, she had called at a chemist's, and pur- 
 chased a little bottle of something in repute for fashionable dis- 
 order of. the nerves. Before lying down she took the prescribed 
 dose, though with small hope that it would help her to a blessed 
 unconsciousness. Another thing she did which had not occurred 
 to her for many a night : she knelt by the bedside, and half 
 thought, half whispered through tearless sobs, a petition not learnt 
 from any book, a strange half-heathen blending of prayer for 
 moral strength, and entreaty for success in a worldly desire. Her 
 mind shook perilously in its balance. It was well for Alma that 
 the fashionable prescription did not fail her. In the moment of 
 
286 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 despair, when she had turned and turned again upon her pillow, 
 haunted by a vision in the darkness, tortured by the never-ending 
 echo of a dreadful voice, there fell upon her a sudden quiet ; her 
 brain was soothed by a lulling air from dreamland ; her limbs 
 relaxed, and forgot their aching weariness ; she sighed and slept. 
 
 " I am much better this morning,'' she said at breakfast. " Not 
 a trace of fever — no headache." 
 
 " And a face the colour of the table-cloth," added Harvey. 
 
 There was a letter from Mrs. Frothingham, conveying good 
 wishes not very fervently expressed. She had decided not to come 
 up for the concert, feeling that the excitement would be too much 
 for her ; but Alma suspected another reason. 
 
 She had not asked her husband whether he meant to have a seat 
 in Prince's Hall this afternoon ; she still waited for him to speak 
 about it. After breakfast he asked her when she would start for 
 town. At noon, she replied. Every arrangement had been com- 
 pleted ; it would be enough if she reached the Hall half-an-hour 
 before the time of the recital, and after a light luncheon at a 
 neighbouring restaurant. 
 
 " Then we may as well go together," said her husband. 
 
 " You mean to come, then ? " she asked dreamily. 
 
 " I shall go in at the last moment — a seat at the back." 
 
 Anything but inclined for conversation, Alma acquiesced. For 
 the next hour or two she kept in solitude, occasionally touching 
 her violin, but always recurring to an absent mood, a troubled rev- 
 erie. She could not fix her thoughts upon the trial that was before 
 her. In a vague way she feared it ; but another fear, at times 
 amounting to dread, dimmed the day's event into insignificance. 
 The morning's newspapers were before her, sent, no doubt, by 
 Dymes's direction, and she mused over the eye-attracting an- 
 nouncements of her debut. " Mrs. Harvey Rolfe's First Violin 
 Recital, Prince's Hall, this afternoon, at 3." It gave her no more 
 gratification than if the name had been that of a stranger. 
 
 The world had grown as unreal as a nightmare. People came 
 before her mind, people the most intimately known, and she 
 seemed but faintly to recognise them. They were all so much 
 changed since yesterday. Their relations to each other and to 
 her were altered, confused. Scarce one of them she could re- 
 gard without apprehension or perplexity. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 287 
 
 What faces would show before her when she advanced upon 
 the platform ? Would she behold Sibyl, or Hugh Carnaby, or 
 Cyrus Redgrave ? Their presence would all but convince her that 
 she had passed some hours of yesterday in delirium. They might 
 be present ; for was not she — she herself — about to step forward 
 and play in public ? Their absence — what would it mean ? 
 Where were they at this moment ? What had happened in the life 
 of each since last she saw them ? 
 
 When it was time to begin to dress, she undertook the task with 
 effort, with repugnance. She would have chosen to sit here, in a 
 drowsy idleness, and let the hours go by. On her table stood the 
 little vial with its draught of oblivion. Oh, to drink of it again 
 and to lay her head upon the pillow and outsleep the day .' 
 
 Nevertheless, when she had exerted herself, and was clad in 
 the fresh garments of spring, the mirror came to her help. She 
 was pale yet ; but pallor lends distinction to features that are not 
 commonplace, and no remark of man or woman had ever caused 
 her to suspect that her face was ordinary. She posed before the 
 glass, holding her violin, and the picture seemed so effective that 
 she began to regain courage. A dreadful thing had happened — 
 perhaps more dreadful than she durst imagine — but her own part 
 in it was nothing worse than folly and misfortune. She had no irre- 
 parable sin to hide. Her moment of supreme peril was past, and 
 would not return. If now she could but brace her nerves, and 
 pass successfully through the ordeal of the next few hours, the 
 victory for which she had striven so hard, and had risked so much, 
 would at length be won. Everything dark and doubtful she must 
 try to forget. Success would give her new strength ; to fail, under 
 any circumstances ignominious, would at this crisis of her Hfe be a 
 disaster fraught with manifold and intolerable shame. 
 
 She played a few notes. Her hand was steady once more ; she 
 felt her confidence revive. Whenever she had performed before 
 an audience, it had always seemed to her that she must inevitably 
 break down ; yet at the last minute came power and self-control. 
 So it would be to-day. The greater the demand upon her, so 
 much the surer her responsive energy. She would not see faces. 
 When all was over, let the news be disclosed, the worst that might 
 be waiting ; between now and then lay an infinity of time. 
 
 So, when she went downstairs to meet Harvey, the change in 
 
288 THE WHIRLPOOI 
 
 her appearance surprised him. He had expected a bloodless 
 countenance, a tremulous step ; but Alma came towards him with 
 ihe confident carriage of an earlier day, with her smile of superi- 
 ority, her look that invited or demanded admiration. 
 
 " Well ? You won't be ashamed of me ? " 
 
 "To tell the truth," said Harvey, "I was going because I 
 feared some one would have to look after you in the middle of the 
 affair. If there's no danger of that, I think I shall not go into 
 the place at all." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I don't care for it. I prefer to hear you play in private." 
 
 " You needn't have the least fear for me,'' said Alma loftily. 
 
 " Very well. We'll lunch together, as we arranged, and I'll be 
 at the door with a cab for you after the people have gone.'' 
 
 " Why should you trouble ? " 
 
 " I had rather, if you don't mind." 
 
 They drove from Baker Street to the Hall, where Alma alighted 
 for a minute to leave her instrument, and thence to a restaurant not 
 far away. Alma felt no appetite, but the necessity of supporting 
 her strength obliged her to choose some suitable refreshment. 
 When their order had been given, Harvey laid his hand upon an 
 evening newspaper, just arrived, which the waiter had thrown on 
 to the next table. He opened it, not with any intention of read- 
 ing, but because he had no mind to talk ; Alma's name, exhibited 
 in staring letters at the entrance of the public building, had op- 
 pressed him withasense of degradation ; he felt ignoble, much as a 
 man might feel who had consented to his own dishonour. As his 
 eyes wandered over the freshly printed sheet, they were arrested 
 by a couple of bold headlines : " Sensational Affair at Wimbledon 
 — Mysterious Death of a Gentleman." He read the paragraph, 
 and turned to Alma with a face of amazement. 
 
 " Look there — read that " 
 
 Alma took the paper. She had an instantaneous foreboding of 
 what she was to see ; her heart stood still, and her eyes dazzled, 
 but at length she read. On the previous evening (said the report), 
 a gentleman residing at Wimbledon, and well-known in fashionable 
 circles, Mr. Cyrus Redgrave, had met his death un^er very strange 
 and startling circumstances. Only a few particulars could as yet 
 be made public ; but it appeared that, about nine o'clock in the 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 289 
 
 evening, a medical man had been hastily summoned to Mr. Red- 
 grave's house, and found that gentleman lying dead in a room that 
 opened upon the garden. There was present another person, a 
 friend of the deceased (name not mentioned), who made a state- 
 ment to the effect that, in consequence of a sudden quarrel, he had 
 struck Mr. Redgrave with his fist, knocking him down, and, as it 
 proved, killing him on the spot. Up to the present moment no 
 further details were obtainable, but it was believed that the self- 
 accused assailant had put himself in communication with the police. 
 There was a rumour, too, which might or might not have any sig- 
 nificance, that Mr. Redgrave's housekeeper had suddenly left the 
 house and could not be traced. 
 
 " Dead ? " 
 
 The word fell from her lips involuntarily. 
 
 " And who killed him .' " said Harvey, just above his breath. 
 
 " It isn't known — there's no name " 
 
 " No. But I had a sudden thought. Absurd — impossible " 
 
 As Harvey whispered the words, a waiter drew near with the 
 luncheon. It was arranged upon the table, but lay there disre- 
 garded. Alma took up the newspaper again. In a moment she 
 leaned towards her husband. 
 
 " What did you think .'" 
 
 " Nothing — don't talk about it." 
 
 Two glasses of wine had been poured out ; Harvey took his and 
 drank it off. 
 
 " It's a pity I saw this," he said ; " it has shaken your nerves. 
 I ought to have kept it to myself." 
 
 Alma dipped a spoon in the soup before her, and tried to swallow. 
 Her hand did not tremble ; the worst had come and gone in a few 
 seconds ; but her palate refused food. She drank wine, and pre- 
 sently became so collected, so quiet, that she wondered at herself. 
 
 Cyrus Redgrave was dead — dead ! — the word kept echoing in her 
 mind. As soon as she understood and believed the fact of Red- 
 grave's death, it became the realisation of a hope which she had 
 entertained without knowing it. Only by a great effort could she 
 assume the look of natural concern : had she been in solitude, her 
 face would have relaxed like that of one who is suddenly relieved 
 from physical torment. She gave no thought to wider conse- 
 quences : she saw the event only as it affected herself in her relations 
 
290 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 wilh the dead man. She had feared him ; she had feared herself ; 
 now all danger was at an end. Now — now she could find courage 
 to front the crowd of people and play to them. Her conscience 
 ceased from troubling ; the hope of triumph no longer linked itself 
 with dread of a fatal indebtedness. No touch of sorrow entered 
 into her mood ; no anxiety on behalf of the man whose act had 
 freed her. He,, her husband's friend, would keep the only secret 
 which could now injure her. Cyrus Redgrave was dead, and to 
 her it meant a renewal of life. 
 
 Harvey was speaking ; he reminded her of the necessity of tak- 
 ing food. 
 
 " Yes, I am going to eat something.'' 
 
 " Look here. Alma," — he regarded her sternly, — " if you have 
 any fear, if you are unequal to this, let me go and make an excuse 
 for you." 
 
 " I have not the least fear. Don't try to make me nervous." 
 
 She ate and drank. Harvey, the while, kept his eyes fixed on 
 the newspaper. 
 
 " Now I must go," she said in a few minutes, after looking at her 
 watch. " Don't come out with me. Do just as you like about go- 
 ing into the Hall and about meeting me afterwards. You needn't 
 be the least bit anxious, I assure you ; I'm not going to make my- 
 self ridiculous." 
 
 They stood up. 
 
 " I shall be at the door with a cab," said Harvey. 
 
 " Very well ; I won't keep you waiting." 
 
 She left him, and walked from the restaurant with a quick step. 
 
 Harvey drank a little more wine, and made a pretence of tast- 
 ing the dish before him, then paid his bill and departed. He had 
 now no intention whatever of going to hear Alma play ; but he 
 wished to know whether certain persons were among her audi- 
 ence, and, as he could not stand to watch the people entering, he 
 took the only other means of setting his mind at rest — this was to 
 drive forthwith to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. 
 
 On his knocking at the Carnabys' door, a servant informed him 
 that neither her master nor her mistress was at home. Some- 
 thing unusual in the girl's manner at once arrested his attention ; 
 she was evidently disinclined to say anything beyond the formula 
 of refusal, but with this Harvey would not be satisfied. He men- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 291 
 
 tioned his name, and urged several inquiries, on the plea that he 
 had urgent business with^his friends. All he could gather was 
 that Carnaby had left home early this morning, and that Mrs. 
 Carnaby was out of town ; it grew more evident that the girl 
 shrank from questions. 
 " Has any one been here before me, anxious to see them ? " 
 " I don't know, sir ; I can't tell you anything else." 
 " And you have no idea when either of them will be back ? 
 " I don't know at all ; I don't know anything about it." 
 He turned away, as if to descend the stairs ; but, as there was 
 no sound of a closing door, he glanced back, and caught a glimpse 
 of the servant, who stood looking after him. No sooner did their 
 eyes meet than the girl drew hastily in and the door was shut. 
 
 Beset by a grave uneasiness, he walked into Edgware Road, 
 and followed the thoroughfare to its end at the Marble Arch. 
 One thing seemed certain : neither Carnaby nor his wife could be 
 at Prince's Hall. It was equally certain that only a serious cause 
 could have prevented their attendance. The servant manifestly 
 had something to conceal ; under ordinary circumstances she 
 would never have spoken and behaved in that strange way. 
 
 At the Marble Arch boys were crying newspapers. He bought 
 two, and in each of them found the sensational headlines ; but the 
 reports added nothing to that he had already seen ; all, it was 
 clear, came from the same source. 
 
 He turned into the Park, and walked aimlessly by cross-paths 
 hither and thither. Time had to be killed ; he tried to read his 
 papers, but every item of news or comment disgusted him, and he 
 threw the sheets away. When he came out at Knightsbridge, 
 there was still half-an-hour to be passed, so he turned eastward, 
 and walked the length of Piccadilly. Now at length Alma's fate 
 was decided ; the concert drew to its close. In anxiety to learn 
 how things had gone with her, he all but forgot Hugh Carnaby, 
 until, just as he was about to hail a cab for the purpose of bring- 
 ing Alma from the Hall, his eye fell on a fresh newspaper placard, 
 which gave its largest type to the Wimbledon affair, and promised 
 a " Startling Revelation." He bought the paper, and read. It 
 had become known, said the reporter, that the gentleman who, 
 on his own avowal, had caused Mr. Redgrave's death, was Mr. 
 H. Carnaby, resident at Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. The 
 
292 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 rumour that Mr. Carnaby had presented himself to the authorities 
 was unfounded ; as a matter of fact, the police had heard nothing 
 from him, and could not discover his whereabouts. As to the 
 mysterious disappearance of Mr. Redgrave's housekeeper — Mrs. 
 Lant by name — nothing new could be learnt. Mrs. Lant had left 
 all her personal belongings, and no one seemed able to conjecture 
 a reason for her conduct. 
 
 Harvey folded up the paper, and crushed it into his pocket. He 
 felt no surprise ; his brooding on possibilities had prepared him 
 for this disclosure, and, from the moment that his fears were con- 
 firmed, he interpreted everything with a gloomy certainty. Hugh's 
 fatal violence could have but one explanation, and that did not 
 come upon Harvey with the shock of the incredible. Neither was 
 he at any loss to understand why Hugh had failed to surrender 
 himself. Ere long the newspapers would rejoice in another 
 " startling revelation," which would make the tragedy complete. 
 
 In this state of mind he waited for Alma's coming forth. She 
 was punctual as she had promised. At the first sight of her he 
 knew that nothing disagreeable had befallen, and this was enough. 
 As soon as the cab drove off with them he looked an inquiry. 
 
 " All well," she answered, with subdued exultation. " Wait 
 till you see the notices." 
 
 Her flushed face and dancing eyes told that she was fresh from 
 congratulation and flattery. Harvey could not spoil her moment 
 of triumph by telling what he had just learnt. She wished to talk 
 of herself, and he gave her the opportunity. 
 
 " Many people.' " 
 
 " A very good hall. They say such an audience at a first recital 
 has hardly ever been known." 
 
 " You weren't nervous ? " 
 
 " I've often been far more when I played in a drawing-room ; and 
 I never played so well — not half so well ! " 
 
 She entered upon a vivid description of her feelings. On first 
 stepping forward, she could see nothing but a misty expanse of 
 faces ; she could not feel the boards she trod upon ; yet no sooner 
 had she raised her violin than a glorious sense of power made her 
 forget everything but the music she was to play. She all but 
 laughed with delight. Never had she felt so perfect a mastery of 
 her instrument. She played without effort, and could have played 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 293 
 
 for hours without weariness. Her fellow-musicians declared that 
 she was " wonderful " ; and Harvey, as he listened to this flow of 
 excited talk, asked himself whether he had not, after all, judged 
 Alma arniss. Perhaps he had been the mere dull Philistine, unable 
 to recognise the born artist, and doing his paltry best to obstruct 
 her path. Perhaps so ; but he would look for the opinion of seri- 
 ous critics — if any such had been present. 
 
 At Baker Street they had to wait for a train, and here it hap- 
 pened that Alma saw the evening placards. At once she changed ; 
 her countenance was darkened with anxiety. 
 
 " Hadn't you better get a paper ?" she asked in a quick under- 
 tone. 
 
 " I have one. Do you wish to see it now ? " 
 
 " Is there anything more ? " 
 
 " Yes, there is. You don't know, I suppose, whether Carnaby 
 and his wife were at the Hall ? " 
 
 "I could hardly distinguish faces,'' she replied, with tremor. 
 "What is it? Tell me." 
 
 He took out his newspaper and pointed to the paragraph which 
 mentioned Carnaby's name. Alma seemed overcome with pain- 
 ful emotion ; she moved towards the nearest seat, and Harvey, 
 alarmed by her sudden pallor, placed himself by her side. 
 
 " What does it mean ? " she whispered. 
 
 " Who can say ? " 
 
 " They must have quarrelled about business matters." 
 
 " Perhaps so." 
 
 " Do you think he — Mr. Carnaby — means to hide away— to es- 
 cape ? " 
 
 "He won't hide away," Harvey answered. "Yet he may 
 escape." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Go by ship ? — get out of the country ? " 
 
 " I don't think so. He is far more likely to be found somewhere 
 — in a way that would save trouble." ' 
 
 Alma flashed a look of intelligence. 
 
 " You think so? " she panted. ■" You really think he has done 
 that ? " 
 
 " I feel afraid of it." 
 
 Alma recovered breath ; and, but that her face was bent low 
 over the newspaper, Harvey must have observed that the possi- 
 
294 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 bility of his friend's suicide seemed rather to calm her agitation 
 than to afflict her with fresh dismay. 
 
 But she could speak no more of her musical triumph. With 
 the colour of her cheeks she had lost all animation, all energy ; she 
 needed the support of Harvey's arm in stepping to the railway 
 carriage ; and on her arrival at home, yielding, as it seemed, to 
 physical exhaustion, she lay pallid, mute, and nerveless. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 At night she had recourse to the little bottle, but this time it was 
 less efficacious. Again and again she woke from terrifying dreams, 
 wearied utterly, unable to rest, and longing for the dawn. Soon 
 after daybreak she arose and dressed ; then, as there was yet no 
 sound of movement in the house, she laid her aching head upon the 
 pillow again, and once more fell into a troubled sleep. The usual 
 call aroused her ; she went to the door and bade the servant bring 
 her some tea and the morning paper as soon as it was delivered. 
 
 In a few minutes the tea and the newspaper were both brought. 
 First she glanced at the paragraphs relating to the Wimbledon 
 tragedy ; there was nothing added to yesterday's news except 
 that the inquest would be held this morning. Then she looked 
 eagerly for the report of her recital, and found it only after much 
 searching, barely a dozen lines, which spoke of her as " a lady 
 of some artistic promise," said that much allowance must be 
 made for her natural nervousness, and passed on to the other per- 
 formers, who were unreservedly praised. Anger and despon- 
 dency struggled within her as she read the lines over and over 
 again. Nervous ! Why, the one marvellous thing was her abso- 
 lute conquest of nervousness. She saw the hand of an enemy. 
 Felix Dymes had warned her of the envy she must look for in cer- 
 tain quarters, and here appeared the first instance of it. But the 
 post would bring other papers. 
 
 ft brought half a dozen and a number of letters. At the sound 
 of the knock. Alma hurried downstairs, seized upon her budget, 
 and returned to the bedroom. Yes ; as it happened, she had seen 
 the least favourable notice first of all. The other papers devoted 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 295 
 
 more space to her (though less than she had expected), and har- 
 monised in their tone of compliment ; one went so far as to con- 
 gratulate those who were present on " an occasion of undoubted 
 importance." Another found some fault with her choice of pieces, 
 but hoped soon to hear her again, for her " claims to more than 
 ordinary attention " were " indubitable." There was a certain 
 lack of " breadth," opined one critic; but "natural nervousness,'' 
 &c. Promise, promise — all agreed that her " promise " was quite 
 exceptional. 
 
 Tremulous from these lines of print, she turned to the letters, 
 and here was full-fed with flattery. " Your most brilliant d^but " 
 — " How shall we thank you for such an artistic treat ? " — " Oh, 
 your divine rendering of," &c. — "You have taken your place, at 
 once and sans phrase, in the very front rank of violinists." She 
 smiled once more, and lost a little of her cadaverous hue. Felix 
 Dymes, scribbling late, repeated things that he had heard since 
 the afternoon. He added: "I'm afraid you'll be awfully upset 
 about your friends the Carnabys. It's very unfortunate this 
 should have happened just now. But cheer up, and let me see 
 you as soon as possible. Great things to come ! " 
 
 She went down to breakfast with shaking limbs, scarce able to 
 hold up her head as she sat through the meal. Harvey ran his 
 eye over the papers, but said nothing, and kept looking anxiously 
 at her. She could not touch food ; on rising from table she felt a 
 giddiness which obliged her to hold the chair for support. At her 
 husband's beckoning she followed him into the library. 
 
 " Hadn't you better go back to bed ? " 
 
 " I shall lie down a little. But perhaps if I could get out " 
 
 " No, that you won't. And if you feel no better by afternoon I 
 shall send for the doctor." 
 
 " You see what the papers say ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be graceful to own that you are surprised .? " 
 
 "We'll talk about that when you look less like a corpse. 
 Would you like me to send any message to Mrs. Carnaby ? " 
 
 Alma shook her head. 
 
 " I'll write — to-day or to-morrow — there's no hurry " 
 
 " No hurry ? " said Rolfe, surprised by something in her tone. 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
296 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Are you going to see Mr. Carnaby ? " was her answer. 
 
 " I don't know where to find him, unless I go to the inquest." 
 
 " I had rather you stayed here to-day," said Alma ; " I feel far 
 from well." 
 
 "Yes, I shall stay. But I ought to let him hear from me. 
 Best, perhaps, if I send a telegram to his place." 
 
 The morning passed miserably enough. Alma went to her 
 bedroom and lay there for an hour or two, then she strayed to 
 the nursery and sat a while with Hugh and his governess. At 
 luncheon she had no more appetite than at breakfast, though for 
 very faintness her body could scarce support itself. After the 
 meal Harvey went out to procure the earliest evening papers, and 
 on his way he called at the doctor's house. Not till about five 
 o'clock was a report of the Wimbledon inquest obtainable. Hav- 
 ing read it, Harvey took the paper home, where he arrived just as 
 the doctor drove up to the door. 
 
 Alma was again lying down ; her eyes showed that she had shed 
 tears. On Harvey's saying that the doctor was in the house, she 
 answered briefly that she would see him. The result of the mter- 
 view was made known to Rolfe. Nervous collapse ; care and 
 quiet; excitement of any kind to be avoided ; the patient better in 
 bed for a few days, to obtain complete rest. Avoidance of excite- 
 ment was the most difficult of all things for Alma at present. 
 Newspapers could not be kept from her ; she waited eagerly for 
 the report of the inquest. 
 
 " Carnaby tells an astonishing story," said Rolfe, as he sat down 
 by her when the doctor was gone. 
 
 " Let me read it for myself." 
 
 She did so with every sign of agitation ; but on laying the paper 
 aside she seemed to become quieter. After a short silence, a word 
 or two fell from her. 
 
 " So Sibyl was at Weymouth." 
 
 Harvey communed with his thoughts, which were anything but 
 pleasant. He did not doubt the truth of Hugh Carnaby's narra- 
 tive, but he had a gloomy conviction that, whether Hugh knew it 
 or not, an essential part of the drama lay unrevealed. 
 
 " Will they find that woman, do you think? " were Alma's next 
 words. 
 
 " It doesn't seem very likely.'' 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 297 
 
 " What is the punishment for manslaughter ? " 
 
 " That depends. The case will go for trial, and — in the mean- 
 time " 
 
 " What ? " asked Alma, raising herself. 
 
 " The woman may be found." 
 
 There was another silence. Then Alma asked — 
 
 " Do you think I ought to write to Sibyl ? " 
 
 " No," he answered decisively. " You must write to no one. 
 Put it all out of your mind as much as possible." 
 
 " Shall you see Mr. Carnaby .' '' 
 
 " Only if he sends for me." 
 
 And this was just what happened. Admitted to bail by the 
 magistrate, Hugh presently sent a note from Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge Mansions, asking his friend to see him there. Harvey did 
 not let Alma know of it. He found some difficulty in getting 
 away from home for a couple of hours, so anxious had she become 
 to keep him within call, and, when he of necessity went out, to be 
 informed of his movements. He attributed this to her morbid 
 condition ; for, in truth. Alma was very ill. She could take only 
 the lightest food, and in the smallest quantities ; she fell repeatedly 
 into fits of silent weeping ; she had lost all strength, and her flesh 
 had begun to waste. On this same day Harvey heard that Mrs. 
 Frothingham was making ready to come, and the news relieved 
 him. 
 
 On reaching the Carnabys', he was admitted by the same servant 
 whose behaviour ' had excited his suspicions a day or two ago. 
 Without a word she conducted him to Hugh's room. 
 
 " Well, old man," said the familiar voice, though in the tone of 
 one who is afraid of being overheard, " it has come to this, you 
 see. You're not surprised ? What else could be expected of a 
 fellow like me, sooner or later? " 
 
 His face had the marks of sleeplessness ; his hand was hot. He 
 pressed Harvey into a chair, and stood before him, making an ob- 
 vious effort to look and speak courageously. 
 
 " It never struck me before how devilish awkward it is for a man 
 in his own home when he gets into a public scrape — I mean the 
 servants. One has to sit under them, as usual, you know, and feel 
 their eyes boring into one's back. Did you ever think of it ? " 
 
 " How long have you to wait ? " asked Rolfe. 
 
298 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Only a fortnight. But there may be bother about that woman. 
 I wish to God they could catch her ! " 
 
 Harvey made no reply, and his eyes wandered. In a moment he 
 became aware that Hugh was looking at him with pecuHar intent- 
 ness. 
 
 " I wish I could do anything for you, Carnaby." 
 
 " You can," replied the other, with emphasis, his face growing 
 stern. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Get rid of that ugly thought I see you have in your mind." 
 
 Hugh's voice, though still cautious, had risen a little ; he spoke 
 with severity that was almost harshness. Their eyes met. 
 
 " What ugly thought ? " 
 
 " Don't be dishonest with me, Rolfe. It's a queer-sounding 
 tale, and you're not the only man, I warrant, who thinks there's 
 something behind it. But I tell you there isn't — or nothing that 
 concerns me." He paused for an instant. " I shouldn't have 
 dared to tell it, but for my wife. Yes, my wife,'' he repeated 
 vehemently. " It was Sibyl forced me to tell the truth. Rather 
 than have her mixed up in such a thing as this, I would have told 
 any lie, at whatever cost to myself ; but she wouldn't let me. And 
 she was right ; I see now that she was, though it's been hard 
 enough, I tell you, to think of what people might be saying — 
 damn them ! Don't you be one, Rolfe. My wife is as pure and in- 
 nocent as any woman living. I tell you that. I ask you to believe 
 that ; and it's the one thing, the only thing, you can do for me." 
 
 His voice quivered, and he half-choked upon the passionate 
 words. Moved, though not to conviction, Harvey made the only 
 possible reply. 
 
 " I believe you ; and if ever I have the chance I will repeat what 
 you say." 
 
 " Very well. But there's something else. I don't ask you to 
 see anything of Sibyl, or to let your wife see her ; it will be much 
 better not. I don't know whether she will stay here, or in Lon- 
 don at all ; but she will see as few people as possible. Don't 
 think it necessary to write to her; don't let your wife write. If 
 we all live through it — and come out again on the other side — 
 things may be all right again ; but I don't look forward to any- 
 thing. All I can think of now is that I've killed a man who was a 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 2951 
 
 good friend to me, and have darkened all the rest of Sibyl's life. 
 And I only wish some one had knocked my brains out ten years 
 ago, when nobody would have missed such a blackguard and 
 ruffian." 
 
 " Is it on your wife's account, or on ours, that you want us to 
 keep apart ? " asked Rolfe gravely. 
 
 " Both, my dear fellow," was the equally grave reply. " I'm 
 saying only what I mean ; it's no time for humbug now. Think 
 it over, and you'll see I'm right." 
 
 " Alma won't see any one just yet awhile," said Harvey. " She 
 has made herself ill, of course." 
 ' "111.? How?" 
 
 " The concert, and the frenzy that went before it." 
 
 " The concert — ." Carnaby touched his forehead. " I remem- 
 ber. If I were you, Rolfe " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I don't want to take advantage of my position and be im- 
 pertinent—but do you think that kind of thing will do her any 
 good in the end.'' " 
 
 " It's going to stop," replied Harvey, with a meaning nod. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say so — very glad. Just stick to that. 
 You're more civilised than I am, and you'll know how to go about 
 that kind of thing as a man should." 
 
 " I mean to try." 
 
 " She is not seriously ill, I hope ? " Hugh inquired, after reflect- 
 ing for a moment. 
 
 " Oh, the nerves — breakdown — nothing dangerous, I believe." 
 
 " Life ought to be easy enough for you, Rolfe," said the other. 
 "You're at home here." 
 
 " It depends what you mean by ' here.' I'm at home in Eng- 
 land, no doubt ; but it's very uncertain whether I shall hold out in 
 London. You know that we're going west to Gunnersbury. 
 That's on the child's account ; I want him to go to school with a 
 friend of ours. If we can live there quietly and sanely, well and 
 good ; if the whirlpool begins to drag us in again— then I have 
 another idea.'' 
 
 " The whirlpool ! " muttered Carnaby, with a broken laugh. 
 " It's got hold of me, and I'm going down, old man — and it looks 
 black as hell." 
 
300 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " We shall see the sunlight again together," replied Rolfe, with 
 forced cheerfulness. 
 
 " You think so ? I wish I could believe it." 
 
 In less than half an hour Harvey was back at the station, wait- 
 ing for his train. He suffered pangs of self-rebuke ; it seemed to 
 him that he ought to have found some better way, in word or 
 deed, for manifesting the sympathy of true friendship. He had 
 betrayed a doubt which must forever affect Hugh's feeling to- 
 wards him. But this was his lot in life, to blunder amid trying 
 circumstances, to prove unequal to every grave call upon him. 
 He tried vainly to see what else he could have done, yet felt that 
 another man would have faced the situation to better purpose. 
 One resolve, at all events, he' had brought out of it : Hugh Carna- 
 by's reference to Alma declared the common-sense view of a 
 difficulty which ought to be no difficulty at all, and put an end to 
 vacillation. But in return for this friendly service he had rendered 
 nothing, save a few half-hearted words of encouragement. Rolfe 
 saw himself in a mean, dispiriting light. 
 
 On the next day Mrs. Frothingham arrived at Pinner, and 
 Harvey's anxieties were lightened. The good, capable woman 
 never showed to such advantage as in a sick-room ; scarcely had 
 she entered the house when Alma's state began to improve. They 
 remarked that she showed no great concern onlSibyl's account, but 
 was seemingly preoccupied with thought of Carnaby himself. This 
 being the case, it was with solicitude that Harvey and Mrs. Froth- 
 ingham awaited the result of Hugh's trial for manslaughter. Red- 
 grave's housekeeper could not be found ; the self-accused man 
 stood or fell by his own testimony ; nothing was submitted to the 
 court beyond the fact of Redgrave's death, and Hugh Carnaby's 
 explanation of how it came about. Nothing of direct evidence ; 
 indirect, in the shape of witness to character, was abundantly forth- 
 coming, and from " people of importance." But the victim also 
 was a person of importance, and justice no doubt felt that, under 
 whatever provocation, such a man must not be slain with impunity. 
 It sentenced the homicide to a term of two years' imprisonment, 
 without hard labour. 
 
 Alma heard the sentence with little emotion. Soon after she 
 fell into a deeper and more refreshing sleep than any she had 
 known since her illness began. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 301 
 
 " It is the end of suspense,'' said Mrs. Frothingham. 
 
 " No doubt," Harvey assented. 
 
 A few days more and Mrs. Frothingham took Alma away into 
 Hampshire. Little Hugh went with them, his mother strongly 
 desiring it. As for Rolfe, he escaped to Greystone, to spend a 
 week with Basil Morton before facing the miseries of the removal 
 from Pinner to Gunnersbury. 
 
PART THE THIRD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 The house had stood for a century and a half, and for eighty 
 years had been inhabited by Mortons. Of its neighbours in the 
 elm-bordered road, one or two were yet older ; all had reached 
 the age of mellowness. " Sicut umbra prceterit dies " — so ran the 
 motto of the dial set between porch and eaves ; to Harvey Rolfe 
 the kindliest of all greetings, welcoming him to such tranquillity 
 as he knew not how to find elsewhere. 
 
 It was in the town, yet nothing town-like. No sooty smother 
 hung above the house-tops and smirched the garden leafage ; no 
 tramp of crowds, no clatter of hot-wheel traffic, sounded from the 
 streets hard by. But at hours familiar, bidding to task or pleasure 
 or repose, the music of the grey belfries floated overhead ; a 
 voice from the old time, an admonition of mortality in strains 
 sweet to the ear of childhood. Harvey had but to listen, and 
 the days of long ago came back to him. Above all, when at even- 
 ing rang the curfew. Stealing apart to a bowered corner of the 
 garden, he dreamed himself into the vanished years, when curfew- 
 time was bed-time, and a hand with gentle touch led him from his 
 play to that long sweet slumber which is the child's new-birth. 
 
 Basil Morton was one of three brothers, the youngest. His 
 father, a corn-factor, assenting readily to his early inclination for 
 the Church, sent him from Greystone Grammar School to Cam- 
 bridge, where Basil passed creditably through the routine, but in 
 no way distinguished himself. Having taken his degree, he felt 
 less assured of a clerical vocation, and thought that the law might 
 perhaps be more suitable to him. Whilst he thus wavered, his 
 father died, and the young man found that he had to depend upon 
 himself for anything more than the barest livelihood. He decided, 
 after all, for business, and became a partner with his eldest brother. 
 
TilE WHIRLPOOL 303 
 
 handling corn as his father and his grandfather had done before 
 him. At eight and twenty he married, and a few years afterwards 
 the elder Morton's death left him to pursue commerce at his own 
 discretion. Latterly the business had not been very lucrative, nor 
 was Basil the man to make it so ; but he went steadily on in the 
 old tracks, satisfied with an income which kept him free from 
 care. 
 
 " I like my trade," he said once to Harvey Rolfe ; " it's clean and 
 sweet and useful. The socialist would revile me as a middleman ; 
 but society can't do without me just yet, and I ask no more than I 
 fairly earn. I like turning over a sample of grain ; I like the touch 
 of it, and the smell of it. It brings me near to the good old 
 Mother Earth, and makes me feel human." 
 
 His house was spacious, well-built, comfortable. The furniture, 
 in great part, was the same his parents had used ; solid mahogany, 
 not so beautiful as furniture may be made, but serviceable, if need 
 be, for another fifty years. He had a library of several thousand 
 volumes, slowly and prudently collected, representing a liberal in- 
 terest in all travail of the mind, and a special taste for the things 
 of classical antiquity. Basil Morton was no scholar in the modern 
 sense, but might well have been described by the old phrase which 
 links scholar with gentleman. He lived by trade, but trade did 
 not affect his life. The day's work over, he turned, with no feeling 
 of incongruity, to a page of Thucydides, of Tacitus, or to those less 
 familiar authors who lighted his favourite wanderings through the 
 ruins of the Roman Empire. Better grounded for such studies 
 than Harvey Rolfe, he pursued them with a steadier devotion and 
 with all the advantages of domestic peace. In his mental habits, 
 in his turns of speech, there appeared perhaps a leaning to pedan- 
 try ; but it was the most amiable of faults, and any danger that 
 might have lurked in it was most happily balanced and corrected 
 by the practical virtues of his life's companion. 
 
 Mrs. Morton had the beauty of perfect health, of health mental 
 and physical. To describe her face as homely was to pay it the 
 highest compliment, for its smile was the true light of home, that 
 never failed. FMa generosi, daughter of a house that bred gen- 
 tlewomen, though its ability to dower them had declined in these 
 latter days, she conceived her duty as wife and mother after the 
 old fashion, and was so fortunate as to find no obstacle in circum- 
 
304 
 
 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 stance. She rose early ; she slept early ; and her day was full of 
 manifold activity. Four children she had borne — the eldest a boy 
 now in his twelfth year, the youngest a baby girl ; and it seemed to 
 her no merit that in these little ones she saw the end and reason of 
 her being. Into her pure and healthy mind had never entered a 
 thought at conflict with motherhood. Her breasts were the foun- 
 tain of life ; her babies clung to them, and grew large of limb. 
 From her they learnt to speak ; from her they learnt the names of 
 trees and flowers and all things beautiful around them ; learnt, too, 
 less by precept than from fair example, the sweetness and sincerity 
 wherewith such mothers, and such alone, can endow their offspring. 
 Later she was their instructress in a more formal sense ; for this 
 also she held to be her duty, up to the point where other teaching 
 became needful. By method and goodwill she found time for 
 everything, ruling her house and ordering her life so admirably, 
 that to those who saw her only in hours of leisure she seemed to 
 be at leisure always. She would have felt it an impossible thing 
 to abandon her children to the care of servants ; reluctantly she 
 left them even for an hour or two when other claims which could 
 not be neglected called her forth. In play-time they desired no 
 better companion, for she was a child herself in gaiety of heart 
 and Hssom sportiveness. No prettier sight could be seen at Grey- 
 stone than when, on a summer afternoon, they all drove in the 
 pony carriage to call on friends, or out into the country. Nowa- 
 days it was often her eldest boy who held the reins, a bright-eyed, 
 well-built lad, a pupil at the old Grammer School, where he used 
 the desk at which his father had sat before him. Whatever fault 
 of boyhood showed itself in Harry Morton, he knew not the 
 common temptation to be ashamed of his mother, or to flout her 
 love. 
 
 For holiday they never crossed the sea. Morton himself had 
 been but once abroad, and that in the year before his father's 
 death, when he was trying to make up his mind what profession he 
 should take up ; he then saw something of France and of Italy. 
 Talking with travelled friends, he was wont to praise himself in 
 humorous vein for the sober fi.xity of his life, and to quote, in that 
 mellow tone which gave such charm to his talk, the line from 
 Claudian, " Erret et c.xtrcmos alter scrutcHir Iberos " ; for he 
 had several friends to whom a Latin or Greek quotation was no 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 305 
 
 stumbling-block. Certain of his college companions, men who 
 had come to hold a place in the world's eye, were glad to turn 
 aside from beaten tracks and smoke a pipe at Greystone with Basil 
 Morton — the quaint fellow who at a casual glance might pass for a 
 Philistine, but was indeed something quite other. His wife had 
 never left her native island. " I will go abroad," she said, " when 
 my boys can take me." And that might not be long hence ; for 
 Harry, who loved no book so much as the atlas, abounded in 
 schemes of travel, and had already mapped the grand tour on 
 which the whole family was to set forth when he stood head-boy 
 at the Grammar School. 
 
 In this household Harvey Rolfe knew himself a welcome guest, 
 and never had he been so glad as now to pass from the noisy 
 world into the calm which always fell about him under his friend's 
 roof. The miseries through which he had gone were troubling 
 his health, and health disordered naturally reacted upon his mind, 
 so that, owing to a gloomy excitement of the imagination, for 
 several nights he had hardly slept. No sooner had he lain down 
 in darkness than every form of mortal anguish beset his thoughts, 
 passing before him as though som» hand unfolded a pictured 
 scroll of life's terrors. He seemed never before to have realised 
 the infinitude of human suffering. Hour after hour, with brief in- 
 tervals of semi-oblivion, from which his mind awoke in nameless 
 horror, he travelled from land to land, from age to age ; at one 
 moment picturing some dread incident of a thousand years ago ; 
 the next, beholding with intolerable vividness some scene of agony 
 reported in the day's newspaper. Doubtless it came of his con- 
 stant brooding on Redgrave's death and Hugh Carnaby's punish- 
 ment. For the first time, tragedy had been brought near io him, 
 and he marvelled at the indifference with which men habitually 
 live in a world where tragedy is every hour's occurrence. 
 
 He told himself that this was merely a morbid condition of the 
 brain, but could not bring himself to believe it. On the contrary, 
 what he now saw and felt was the simple truth of things, obscured 
 by everyday conditions of active life. And that History which he 
 loved to read— what was it but the lurid record of woes unutter- 
 able ? How could he find pleasure in keeping his eyes fixed on 
 century after century of ever-repeated torment— war, pestilence, 
 tyranny ; the stake, the dungeon ; tortures of infinite device, cruel- 
 
3o6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 ties inconceivable ? He would close his books, and try to forget 
 all they had taught him. 
 
 To-night he spoke of it, as he sat with Morton after every one else 
 had gone to bed. They had talked of Hugh Carnaby (each divining 
 in the other a suspicion they were careful not to avow), and their 
 mood led naturally to interchange of thoughts on grave subjects. 
 
 " Every one knows that state of mind, more or less," said Mor- 
 ton, in his dreamy voice— a voice good for the nerves. " It comes 
 generally when one's stomach is out of order. You wake at half- 
 past two in the morning, and suffer infernally from the blackest 
 pessimism. It's morbid— yes ; but for all that it may be a glimpse 
 of the truth. Health and good spirits, just as likely as not, are 
 the deceptive condition." 
 
 " Exactly. But for the power of deceiving ourselves, we couldn't 
 live at all. It's not a question of theory, but of fact." 
 
 " I fought it out with myself," said Basil, after a sip of whisky, 
 " at the time of my ' exodus from Houndsditch.' There's a point 
 in the life of every man who has brains, when it becomes a possi- 
 bility that he may kill himself. Most of us have it early, but it de- 
 pends on circumstances. > was like Johnson's friend : be as 
 philosophical as I might, cheerfulness kept breaking in. And at 
 last I let cheerfulness have its way. As far as I know " — he gur- 
 gled a laugh — " Schopenhauer did the same." 
 
 Harvey puffed at his pipe before answering. 
 
 " Yes ; and I suppose we may call that intellectual maturity. 
 It's bad for a man when he can't mature — which is my case. I 
 seem to be as far from it as ever. Seriously, I should think few 
 men ever had so slow a development. I don't stagnate : there's al- 
 ways movement ; but — putting aside the religious question — my 
 stage at present is yours of twenty years ago. Yet, not even that ; 
 for you started better than I did. You were never a selfish lout — 
 a half-baked blackguard " 
 
 " Nor you either, my dear fellow." 
 
 " But I was ! I've got along fairly well in self-knowledge ; I 
 can follow my course in the past clearly enough. If I had my 
 rights, I should live to about a hundred and twenty, and go on 
 ripening to the end. That would be a fair proportion. It's con- 
 foundedly hard to think that I'm a good deal past the middle o{ 
 life, yet morally and intellectually am only beginning it.'' 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 307 
 
 " It only means, Rolfe, that we others have a pretty sohd con- 
 ceit of ourselves.— Listen ! ' We have heard the chimes at mid- 
 night, Master Shallow.' I don't apply the name to you ; but you'll 
 be none the worse for a good night's sleep. Let us be off." 
 
 Harvey slept much better than of late. There was an air of 
 comfort in this guest-chamber which lulled the mind. Not that 
 the appointments were more luxurious than in his own bedroom, 
 for Morton had neither the means nor the desire to equip his 
 house with perfections of modern upholstery ; but every detail 
 manifested a care and taste and delicacy found only in homes 
 which are homes indeed, and not mere dwelling-places fitted up 
 chiefly for display. Harvey thought of the happiness of children 
 who are born, and live through all their childhood, in such an at- 
 mosphere as this. Then he thought of his own child, who had in 
 truth no home at all. A house in Wales— a house at Pinner— a 
 house at Gunnersbury — presently a house somewhere else. He 
 had heard people defend this nomad life — why, he himself, before 
 his marriage, had smiled at the old-fashioned stability represented 
 by such families as the Mortons ; had talked of " getting into 
 ruts," of " mouldering," and so on. He saw it from another 
 point of view now, and if the choice were between rut and whirl- 
 pool 
 
 When he awoke, and lay looking at the sun- lit blind, in the still- 
 ness of early morning he heard a sound always delightful, always 
 soothing, that of scythe and whetstone ; then the long steady 
 sweep of the blade through garden grass. Morton, old stick-in- 
 the-mud, would not let his gardener use a mowing machine, the 
 scythe was good enough for him ; and Harvey, recalled to the 
 summer mornings of more than thirty years ago, blessed him for 
 his pig-headedness. 
 
 But another sound he missed, one he would have heard even 
 more gladly. Waking thus at Pinner (always about six o'clock), 
 he had been wont to hear the voice of his little boy, singing. 
 Possibly this was a doubtful pleasure to Miss Smith, in whose 
 room Hughie slept ; but, to her credit, she had never bidden the 
 child keep quiet. And there he lay, singing to himself, a song 
 without words ; singing like a little bird at dawn ; a voice of in- 
 nocent happiness, greeting the new day. Hughie was far off; 
 and in a strange room, with other children, he would not sing. 
 
3o8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 But Harvey heard his voice— the odd little bursts of melody, the 
 liquid rise and fall, which set to tune, no doubt, some childish 
 fancy, some fairy tale, some glad anticipation. Hughie lived in 
 the golden age. A year or two more, and the best of life would 
 be over with him ; for boyhood is but a leaden time compared 
 with the borderland between it and infancy ; and manhood — the 
 curse of sex developed 
 
 It was a merry breakfast-table. The children's sprightly talk, 
 their mother's excellent spirits, and Morton's dry jokes with one 
 and all, made Harvey feel ashamed of the rather glum habit which 
 generally kept him mute at the first meal of the day. Alma, too, 
 was seldom in the mood for breakfast conversation ; so that, be- 
 tween them, they imposed silence upon Hughie and Miss Smith. 
 One might have- thought that the postman had brought some ill 
 news, depressing the household. Yet things were not wont to be 
 so bad in Wales ; at that time, the day, as a rule, began cheer- 
 fully enough. Their life had darkened in the shadow of London ; 
 just when, for the child's sake, everything should have been made 
 as bright as possible. And he saw little hope of change for the 
 better. It did not depend upon him. The note of family life is 
 struck by the house-mistress, and Alma seemed fallen so far 
 from her better self that he could only look forward with anxiety 
 to new developments of her character. 
 
 " School } " he exclaimed, when Harry, with satchel over 
 shoulder, came to bid him good morning. " I wish I could go in 
 your place ! It's just thirty-one years since I left the old Grammar 
 School." 
 
 The boy did not marvel at this. He would not have done so if 
 the years had been sixty-one ; for Mr. Rolfe seemed to him an 
 old man, very much older than his own father. 
 
 As usual when at Greystone, Harvey took his first walk to the 
 spots associated with his childhood. He walked alone, for Mor- 
 ton had gone to business until mid-day. On the outskirts of the 
 town, in no very pleasant situation, stood the house where he was 
 born ; newbuildings had risen round about it, and the present ten- 
 ants seemed to be undesirable people, who neglected the garden 
 and were careless about their window curtains. Here he had lived 
 until he was ten years old — till the death of his father. His 
 mother died long before that ; he just, and only just, remembered 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 309 
 
 her. He knew from others that she was a gentle, thoughtful wo- 
 man, always in poor heahh ; the birth of her second child, a girl, 
 led to a lingering illness, and soon came the end. To her place 
 as mistress of the house succeeded Harvey's aunt, his father's 
 sister. No one could have been kinder to the children, but Har- 
 vey, for some reason yet obscure to him, always disliked her. 
 Whom, indeed, did he not dislike, of those set over him? He 
 recalled his perpetual rebellion against her authority from the first 
 day to the last. What an unruly cub ! And his father's anger 
 when he chanced to overhear some boyish insolence— alas ! alas ! 
 
 For he saw so little of his father. Mr. Rolfe's work as a rail- 
 way engineer kept him chiefly abroad ; he was sometimes absent 
 for twelve months at a time. Only in the last half-year of his 
 life did he remain constantly at home, and that because he was 
 dying. Having contracted a fever in Spain, he came back to re- 
 cruit ; but his constitution had suffered from many hardships, and 
 now gave way. To the last day (though he was ten years old) 
 Harvey never dreamt of what was about to happen. Self-absorbed 
 in a degree unusual even with boys, he feared his father, but had 
 not learnt to love him. And now, looking back, he saw only too 
 well why the anxious parent treated him with severity more often 
 than with gentleness and good-humour. A boy such as he must 
 have given sore trouble to a father on his death-bed. 
 
 When it was too late, too late by many a year, he mourned the 
 loss which had only startled him, which had seemed hardly a loss 
 at all, rather an emancipation. As a man of thirty, he knew his 
 father much better than when living with him day after day. 
 Faults he could perceive, some. of them inherited in his own 
 character ; but there remained the memory of a man whom he 
 could admire and love — whom he did admire and love more sin- 
 cerely and profoundly the older he grew. And he held it the su- 
 preme misfortune of his life that, in those early years which count 
 so muchjtowards the future, he had been so rarely under his|father's 
 influence. 
 
 Inevitable, it seemed. Yet only so, perhaps, because even a 
 good and conscientious man may fail to understand the obligation 
 under which he lies towards his offspring. 
 
 He and his sister Amy passed into the guardianship of Dr. Har- 
 vey, Mr. Rolfe's old friend, the boy's godfather, who had done his 
 
310 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 best to soothe the mind of -the dying man with regard to his chil- 
 dren's future. There were no pecuniary difficulties ; the children's 
 education was provided for, and on coming of age each would have 
 about two thousand pounds. Dr. Harvey, a large-hearted, bright- 
 witted Irishman, with no youngsters of his own, speedily decided 
 that the boy must be sent away to a boarding-school, to have some 
 of the self-will knocked out of him. Amy continued to live with 
 her aunt for two years more ; then the good woman died and the 
 Doctor took Amy into his own house, which became Harvey's 
 home during holidays. 
 
 The ivy-covered house, in the best residential street of Grey- 
 stone. Harvey paused before it. On the railings hung a brass 
 plate with another name, the good old Doctor had been in his 
 grave for many a year. 
 
 What wonder that he never liked the boy ? Harvey, so far as 
 any one could perceive, had no affection, no good feeling, no 
 youthful freshness or simplicity of heart ; moreover, he exhibited 
 precocious arrogance, supported by an obstinacy which had not 
 even the grace of quickening into fieriness ; he was often a brag- 
 gart, and could not be trusted to tell the truth where his self-es- 
 teem was ever so little concerned. How unutterably the Harvey 
 Rolfe of to-day despised himself at the age of fifteen or so ! Even 
 at that amorphous age, a more loutish, ungainly boy could scarcely 
 have been found. Bashfulness cost him horrid torments, of course 
 exasperating his conceit. He hated girls ; he scorned women. 
 Among his schoolfellows he made a bad choice of comrades. 
 Though muscular and of tolerable health, he was physically, as 
 well as morally, a coward. Games and sports had no attraction 
 for him ; he shut himself up in rooms, and read a great deal, yet 
 even this, it seemed, not without an eye to winning admiration. 
 
 Brains he had — brains undeniably ; but for a long time there was 
 the greatest doubt as to what use he could make of them. Harvey 
 remembered the day when it was settled that he should study med- 
 icine. He resolved upon it merely because he had chanced to hear 
 the Doctor say that he was not cut out for that. 
 
 He saw himself at twenty, a lank, ungainly youth, with a dis- 
 agreeable complexion and a struggling mustache. He was a 
 student at Guy's ; he had " diggings " ; he tasted the joy of inde- 
 pendence. As is the way with young men of turbid passions and 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 311 
 
 indifferent breeding, he rapidly signalised his independence by 
 plunging into sordid slavery. A miserable time to think of ; a 
 wilderness of riot, folly, and shame. Yet it seemed to him that he 
 was enjoying life. Among the rowdy set of his fellow-students 
 he shone with a certain superiority. His contempt of money, and 
 his large way of talking about it, conveyed the impression that 
 abundant means awaited him. He gave away coin as readily as 
 he spent it on himself ; not so much in a true spirit of generosity 
 (though his character had gleams of it), as because he dreaded 
 above all things the appearance of niggardliness and the suspicion 
 of a shallow purse. 
 
 Then came a memorable interview with his guardian on his 
 twenty-first birthday. Harvey flinched and grew hot in thinking of 
 it. What an ungrateful cur ! What a self-sufficient young idiot ! 
 The Doctor had borne so kindly with his follies and vices, had 
 taken so much trouble for his good, was it not the man's right and 
 duty to speak grave words of counsel on such an occasion as this ? 
 But to counsel Mr. Harvey Rolfe was to be guilty of gross imperti- 
 nence. With lofty spirit the young gentleman proclaimed that he 
 must no longer be treated as a schoolboy ! Whereupon the Doc- 
 tor lost his temper, and spoke with a particularly strong Hibernian 
 accent — spoke words which to this moment stung the hearer's 
 memory. He saw himself marching from the room — that room 
 yonder, on the ground-floor. It was some small consolation to 
 remember that he had been drinking steadily for a week before 
 that happened. Indeed, he could recall no scene quite so discred- 
 itable throughout the course of his insensate youth. 
 
 Well, he had something like two thousand pounds. Whether 
 he had looked for more or less he hardly knew, or whether he had 
 looked for anything at all. At one and twenty he was the merest 
 child in matters of the world. Surely something must have ar- 
 rested the natural development of his common-sense. Even in 
 another ten years he was scarcely on a level, as regards practical 
 intelligence, with the ordinary lad who is leaving school. 
 
 He at once threw up his medical studies, which had grown hate- 
 ful to him. He took his first taste of foreign travel. He extended 
 his reading and his knowledge of languages. And insensibly a 
 couple of years went by. 
 
 The possession of money had done him good. It clarified his 
 
312 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 passions, or tended that way. A self-respect, which differed 
 appreciably from what he had formerly understood by that term, 
 began to guard him against grossness ; together with it there 
 developed in him a new social pride which made him desire the 
 acquaintance of well-bred people. Though he had no longer any 
 communication with the good old Doctor, Amy frequently wrote 
 to him, and in one of her letters she begged him to call on a 
 family in London, one of whose younger members lived at Grey- 
 stone and was Amy's friend. After much delay, he overcame 
 his bashfulness, and called upon the worthy people — tailored as 
 became a gentleman at large. The acquaintance led to others ; 
 in a short time he was on pleasant terms with several well-to-do 
 families. He might have suspected — but at the time, of course, 
 did not — that Dr. Harvey's kindly influence had something to do 
 with his reception in these houses. Self-centred, but painfully 
 self-distrustful, he struggled to overcome his natural defects of 
 manner. Possibly with some success ; for did not Lily Burton, 
 who at first so piqued him by her critical smile, come to show him 
 tolerance, friendliness, gracious interest ? 
 
 Lily Burton ! — how emptily, how foolishly the name tinkled out 
 of that empty and foolish past ! Yet what a power it had over 
 him when he was three and twenty ! Of all the savage epithets 
 which he afterwards attached to its owner, probably she merited a 
 few. She was a flirt, at all events. She drew him on, played upon 
 his emotions, found him, no doubt, excellent fun ; and at last, 
 when he was imbecile enough to declare himself, to talk of mar- 
 riage, Lily, raising the drollest eyes, quietly wished to know what 
 his prospects were. 
 
 The intolerable shame of it, even now ! But he laughed, mock- 
 ing at his dead self. 
 
 His mind's eye beheld the strange being a year later. Still in 
 good clothes, but unhealthy, and at his last half-crown ; four and 
 twenty, travelled, and possessed of the elements of culture, he had 
 only just begun to realise the fact that men labour for their daily 
 bread. Was it the peculiar intensity of his egoism that so long 
 blinded him to common anxieties? Even as the last coins slipped 
 between his fingers, he knew only a vaguely irritable apprehension. 
 Did he imagine the world vi'ould beg for the honour of feeding and 
 clothing Mr. Harvey Rolfe ? 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 313 
 
 It came back to him, his first experience of hunger — so very 
 different a thing from appetite. He saw the miserable bedroom 
 where he sat on a rainy day. He smelt the pawnshop. His 
 heart sank again under the weight of awful solitude. Then, his 
 illness ; the letter he wrote to Amy ; her visit to him ; the help 
 she brought. But she could not persuade him to go back with her 
 to Greystone to face the Doctor. Her money was a loan ; he 
 would bestir himself and find occupation. For a wonder, it was 
 found — the place at the Emigration Agency ; and so, for a good 
 many years, the notable Mr. Harvey Rolfe sank into a life of ob- 
 scure routine. 
 
 Again and again his sister Amy besought him to visit Grey- 
 stone. Dr. Harvey was breaking up ; would he not see the kind 
 old man once more .' Yes, he assured himself that he would ; but 
 he took his time about it, and Dr. Harvey, who at three-score and 
 ten could not be expected to wait upon a young man's convenience, 
 one day very quietly died. To Amy Rolfe, who had become as a 
 daughter to him, he left the larger part of his possessions, an in- 
 come of nine hundred a year. Not long after this, Harvey met his 
 sister, and was astonished to find her looking thin, pale, spiritless. 
 What did it mean? Why did she gaze at him so sadly? Come, 
 come, he cried, she had been leading an unnatural life, cloistered, 
 cheerless. Now that she was independent, she must enjoy herself, 
 see the world ! Brave words ; and braver still those in which he 
 replied to Amy's entreaty that he would share her wealth. Not 
 he, indeed ! If, as she said, the Doctor meant and hoped it, why 
 did he not make that plain in his will ? Not a penny would he take. 
 He had all he wanted. And he seemed to himself the most 
 magnanimous of men. 
 
 Amy lived on at Greystone ; amid friends, to be sure, but silent, 
 melancholy ; and he, the brother whom she loved, could spare her 
 only a day or two once a year, when he chattered his idle self-con- 
 ceit. Any one else would have taken trouble to inquire the cause 
 of her pallor, her sadness. He, forsooth, had to learn with aston- 
 ishment, at last, that she wished to see him— on her death-bed. 
 
 He had often thought of her, and kindly. But he knew her not 
 at all, took no interest in her existence. She, on the other hand, 
 had treasured every miserable little letter his idleness vouchsafed ; 
 she had hoped so for his future, ever believing in him. When 
 
314 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Amy lay dead, he saw the sheet of paper on which she had written 
 the few lines necessary to endow him with all she left — everything 
 " to my dear brother." What words could have reproached him 
 so keenly ? 
 
 His steps turned to the churchyard, where on a plain upright 
 stone he read the names of his mother, of his father. Amy's 
 grave was hard by. He, too, if he had his wish, would some day 
 rest here ; and here his own son would stand, and read his name, 
 and think of him. Ah, but with no such remorse and self-con- 
 tempt ! That was inconceivable. The tenderness which dimmed 
 his eyes would have changed to misery had he dreamed it possi- 
 ble that his own boy could palter so ignobly with the opportunities 
 of life. 
 
 Upon these deep emotions intruded the thought of Alma. In- 
 truded ; for he neither sought nor welcomed his wife's companion- 
 ship at such a moment, and he was disturbed by a perception of 
 the little claim she had to be present with him in spirit. He 
 could no longer pretend to himself that he loved Ahiia ; whatever 
 the right name for his complex of feelings — interest, regard, ad- 
 miration, sexual attachment — assuredly it must be another word 
 than that sacred to the memory of his parents, to the desires and 
 hopes centring in his child. For all that, he had no sense of a 
 hopeless discord in his wedded life ; he suffered from no disillu- 
 sion with its attendant bitterness. From this he was saved by the 
 fact, easy at length to recognise, that in wooing Alma he had 
 obeyed no dictate of the nobler passion ; here, too, as at every 
 other crisis of life, he had acted on motives which would not bear 
 analysis, so large was the alloy of mere temperament, of weak con- 
 cession to circumstance. Rather than complain that Alma fell 
 short of the ideal in wifehood, should he not marvel, and be grate- 
 ful that their marriage might still be called a happy one? Happi- 
 ness in marriage is a term of such vague application : Basil 
 Morton, one in ten thousand, might call himself happy; even so, 
 all things considered, must the husband who finds \tjust possible 
 to endure the contiguity of his wife. Midway between these 
 extremes of the definition stood Harvey's measure of matrimonial 
 bliss. He saw that he had no right to grumble. 
 
 He saw, moreover, and reflected constantly upon it in these 
 days, how largely he was himself to blame for the peril of estrange- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 315 
 
 ment which threatened his life with Alma. Meaning well, and 
 thinking himself a pattern of marital wisdom, he had behaved, as 
 usual, with gross lack of discretion. The question now was, could 
 he mend the harm that he had done ? Love did not enter into the 
 matter; his difficulty called for common-sense— for rational 
 methods in behaviour towards a wife whom he could still respect, 
 and who was closely bound to him by common interest in their 
 child. 
 
 He looked up, and had pleasure once more in the sunny sky. 
 After all, he, even he, had not committed the most woful of all 
 blunders ; though it was a mystery how he had escaped it. The 
 crown of his feeble, futile caraer should, in all fitness, have been 
 marriage with a woman worse than himself. And not on his own 
 account did he thank protecting fortune. One lesson, if one only, 
 he had truly learnt from nature : it bade him forget all per-sonal 
 disquietude, in joy that he was not guilty of that crime of 
 crimes, the begetting of children by a worthless mother. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 Mrs. Morton felt a lively interest in Mrs. Rolfe's musical en- 
 terprise, and would have liked to talk about it, but she suspected 
 that the topic was not very agreeable to her guest. In writing to 
 Morton, Harvey had just mentioned the matter, and that was all. 
 On the second day of his visit, when he felt much better, and saw 
 things in a less troubled light, he wished to remove the impression 
 that he regarded Alma's proceedings with sullen disapproval ; so 
 he took the opportunity of being alone with his hostess, and talked 
 to her of the great venture with all the good-humour he could 
 command. Mrs. Morton had seen two notices of Alma's d^but ; 
 both were so favourable that she imagined them the augury of a 
 brilliant career. 
 
 " I doubt that,'' said Harvey ; " and I'm not sure that it's desir- 
 able. She has made herself miserably ill, you see. Excitement is 
 the worst possible thing for her. And then there's the whole 
 question of whether professional life is right and good for a married 
 woman. How do you think about it ? " 
 
3i6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 The lady instanced cases that naturally presented themselves. 
 She seemed to have no prejudice. Mrs. Rolfe appeared to her a 
 person of artistic temper ; but health was of the first importance ; 
 and then 
 
 Harvey waited ; but only a thoughtful smile completed the 
 remark. 
 
 '■ What other consideration had you in mind ? " 
 
 " Only a commonplace — that a married woman would, of course, 
 be guided by her husband's wish." 
 
 " You think that equivalent to reason and the will of God?" 
 said Harvey jocosely. 
 
 " If we need appeal to solemn sanction." 
 
 Rolfe was reminded, not unpleasantly, that he spoke with a 
 woman to whom " the will of God " was something more than a 
 facetious phrase. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; let us say reason alone. But is it reason- 
 able for the artist to sacrifice herself because she happens to have 
 married an everyday man ? " 
 
 Mrs. Morton shook her head and laughed. 
 
 " If only one knew what is meant by the everyday man I My 
 private view of him is rather flattering, perhaps. I'm inclined to 
 think him, on the whole, not inferior to the everyday woman ; and 
 she — she isn't a bad sort of creature, if fairly treated. I don't 
 think the everyday man will go very far wrong, as a rule, in the 
 treatment of his wife." 
 
 " You really believe that } " asked Harvey, with a serious 
 smile. 
 
 " Why, is it such a heresy ? " 
 - " I should rather have thought so. One is so accustomed to 
 hear the other view — I mean, it's in the air. Don't think I'm ask- 
 ing your sympathy. I have always wished Alma to act on her own 
 judgment ; she has been left quite free to do so. But if the results 
 seem worse than doubtful, then comes the diflSculty." 
 
 " To be scitled, surely, like all other difficulties between sensi- 
 ble people." 
 
 Mrs. Morton's faith was of enviable simplicity. She knew, as a 
 matter of fact, that husbands and wives often found their difficul- 
 ties insuperable ; but why this should be so, seemed to her one of 
 the dark and mournful enigmas of life. It implied such a lack not 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 317 
 
 only of good sense, but of right feeling. In her own experience 
 she had met with no doubt, no worry, which did not yield to tact, 
 or g.enerous endeavour, or, at worst, to the creed by which she 
 lived. One solicitude, and one only, continued to affect her as 
 wife and mother ; that it could not overcome her happy temper 
 was due to the hope perpetualjy inspired by her husband's love — a 
 hope inseparable from her profoundest convictions. She and Mor- 
 ton differed in religious views, and there had come a grave moment 
 when she asked whether it would be possible to educate her chil- 
 dren in her own belief without putting a distance between them 
 and their father. The doubt had disappeared, thanks to Morton's 
 breadth of view, or facility of conscience ; there remained the trou- 
 ble in which Jt had originated, but she solaced herself with the 
 fond assurance that this also would vanish as time went on. In 
 the same mood of kindly serenity she regarded the lives of her 
 friends, always hoping for the best, and finding it hard to un- 
 derstand that any one could deliberately act with unkindness, 
 unreasonableness, or any other quality opposed to the common 
 good. 
 
 Rolfe had no desire of talking further about his private affairs. 
 He had made up his mind on the points at issue, and needed no 
 counsel, but the spirit of Mrs. Morton's conversation helped him 
 to think tranquilly. The great danger was that he might make 
 things worse by his way of regarding them. Most unluckily, 
 Alma's illness had become connected in his imagination with the 
 tragedy of the Carnabys ; he could not keep the things apart. 
 Hugh Carnaby's miserable doom, and the dark surmises attaching 
 to his wife, doubtless had their part in bringing about a nervous 
 crisis ; why could he not recognise this as perfectly natural, and 
 dismiss the matter ? In spite of all reasoning. Alma's image 
 ever and again appeared to him shadowed by the gloom which in- 
 volved her friend — or the woman who was her friend. He knew 
 it (or believed it) to be the merest illusion of his perturbed mind ; 
 for no fact, how trivial soever, had suggested to him that Alma 
 knew more of the circumstances of Redgrave's death than she 
 seemed to know. On the one hand, he was glad that Alma and 
 Sibyl no longer cared to meet ; on the other, he could not under- 
 stand what had caused this cessation of their friendship, and he 
 puzzled over it. But these idle fancies would pass away ; they were 
 
3i8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 already less troublesome. A long country walk with Morton, during 
 which they conversed only of things intellectual, did him much 
 good. Not long ago Morton had had a visit from an old Cam- 
 bridge friend, a man who had devoted himself to the study of a 
 certain short period of English history, and hoped, some ten yeaj-s 
 hence, to produce an authoritative work on the subject. 
 
 " There's a man I envy ! " cried Rolfe, when he had listened to 
 Basil's humorous description of the enthusiast. " It's exactly what 
 I should like to do myself." 
 
 " What prevents you ? " 
 
 " Idleness— irresolution— the feeling that the best of my life is 
 over. I have never been seriously a student, and it's too late to 
 begin now. But if I were ten years younger, I would make my- 
 self master of something. What's the use of reading only to for- 
 get.' In my time I have gone through no small library of historical 
 books — and it's all a mist on the mind's horizon. That comes of 
 reading without method, without a purpose. The time I have 
 given to it would have made me a pundit, if I had gone to work 
 reasonably." 
 
 " Isn't my case the same ? " exclaimed Morton. " What do I 
 care ! I enjoyed my reading and my knowledge at the time, and 
 that's all I ever expected." 
 
 " Very well — though you misrepresent yourself. But for me it 
 isn't enough. I want to know something as well as it can be 
 known. Purely for my ov\'n satisfaction ; the thought of ' doing 
 something ' doesn't come in at all. I was looking at your county 
 histories this morning and I felt a huge longing to give the rest 
 of my life to some little bit of England, a county, or even a town, 
 and exhaust the possibilities of knowledge within those limits. 
 Why, Greystone here — it has an interesting history, even in rela- 
 tion to England at large ; and what a delight there would be in 
 following it out, doggedly, invincibly — making it one's single sub- 
 ject — grubbing after it in muniment-rooms and libraries — learning 
 by heart every stone of the old town — dying at last with the con- 
 solation that nobody could teach one anything more about it ! " 
 
 " I know the mood," said Morton, laughing. 
 
 "I'm narrowing down," pursued Harvey. "Once 1 had tre- 
 mendous visions — dreamt of holding half a dozen civilisations in 
 the hollow of my hand. I came back from the East in a fury to 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 319 
 
 learn the Oriental languages— made a start, you know, with Ara- 
 bic. I dropped one nation after another, always drawing nearer 
 home. The Latin races were to suffice me. Then early France, 
 especially in its relations with England ;— Normandy, Anjou. 
 Then early England, especially in its relations with France. The 
 end will be a county, or a town — nay, possibly a building. Why 
 not devote oneself to the history of a market-cross .' It would be 
 respectable, I tell you. Thoroughness is all. " 
 
 When they were alone in the library at night, Morton spoke of 
 his eldest boy, expressing some anxiety about him. 
 
 " The rascal will have to earn his living — and how ? There's 
 time, I suppose, but it begins to fidget me. He won't handle 
 corn— I'm clear as to that. At his age, of course, all lads talk 
 about voyages and so on, but Harry seems cut out for a larger 
 sphere than Greystone. I shan't balk him. I'd rather he hadn't 
 anything to do with fighting— still, that's a weakness." 
 
 " We think of sending Wager's lad into the navy," said Rolfe, 
 when he had mused awhile. " Of course, he'll have to make his 
 own way." 
 
 " Best thing you can do, no doubt. And what about his little 
 sister? " 
 
 " That's more troublesome. It's awkward that she's a relative 
 of Mrs. Abbott. Otherwise, I should have proposed to train her 
 for a cook." 
 
 "Do you mean it? " 
 
 " Why not ? She isn't a girl of any promise. What better 
 thing for her, and for the community, than to make her a good 
 cook. They're rare enough. Heaven knows. What's the use of 
 letting her grow up with ideas of gentility, which in her case 
 would mean nothing but uselessness ? She must support herself, 
 sooner or later, and it won't be with her brains. I've seriously 
 thought of making that suggestion to Mrs. Abbott. Ten years 
 hence, a sensible woman cook will demand her own price, and be 
 a good deal more respected than a dressmaker or a she-clerk. 
 The stomach is very powerful in bringing people to common-sense. 
 When all the bricklayers' daughters are giving piano lessons, and 
 it's next to impossible ta get any servant except a ladies'-maid, we 
 shall see women of leisure develop a surprising interest in the boil- 
 ing of potatoes." 
 
320 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Morton admitted the force of these arguments. 
 
 " What would you wish your own boy to be ? " he asked pre- 
 sently. 
 
 •• Anything old-fashioned, unadventurous, happily obscure ; a 
 country parson, perhaps, best of all." 
 
 " I understand. I've had the same thoughts. But one has to 
 get over that kind of thing. It won't do to be afraid of life — nor 
 of death either." 
 
 " And there's the difficulty of education," said Rolfe. " If I 
 followed my instincts, I should make the boy unfit for anything 
 but the quietest, obscurest life. I should make him hate a street, 
 and love the fields. I should teach him to despise every form of 
 ambition ; to shrink from every kind of pleasure, but the simplest 
 aud purest ; to think of life as a long day's ramble, and death as 
 the quiet sleep that comes at the end of it. I should like him not 
 to marry — never to feel the need of it ; or if marry he must, to 
 have no children. That's my real wish ; and if I tried to carry it 
 out, the chances are that I should do him an intolerable wrong. 
 For fear of it, I must give him into the hands of other people ; I 
 must see him grow into habits and thoughts which will cause me 
 perpetual uneasiness ; I must watch him drift further and further 
 away from my own ideal of life, till at length, perhaps, there is 
 scarce a possibility of sympathy between us." 
 
 " Morbid — all morbid," remarked the listener. 
 
 " I don't know. It may only mean that one sees too clearly the 
 root facts of existence. I have another mood (less frequent) in 
 which I try to persuade myself that I don't care much about the 
 child ; that his future doesn't really concern me at all. Why 
 should it ? He's just one of the millions of human beings who 
 come and go. A hundred years hence — what of hirh and of me ? 
 What can it matter how he lived and how he died ? The best 
 kind of education would be that which hardened his skin and 
 blunted his sympathies. What right have I to make him sensi- 
 tive } The thing is, to get though life with as little suffering as 
 possible. What monstrous folly to teach him to wince and cry 
 out at the sufferings of other people ! Won't he have enough ol 
 his own before he has done ? Yet that's what we shall aim at— 
 to cultivate his sympathetic emotions, so that the death of a bird 
 shall make him sad, and the sight of human distress wring his 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 321 
 
 heart. Real kindness would try to make of him a healthy ruffian, 
 with just enough conscience to keep him from crime." 
 
 " Theory for theory, I prefer this," said Morton. " To a certain 
 extent I try to act upon it." 
 
 " You do ? " 
 
 " Just because I know that my own tendency is to over-soft- 
 ness. I have sometimes surprised my wife by bidding Harry 
 disregard things that appealed to his pity. You remember what 
 old Hobbes says : ' Homo malus, puer robustus ' f There was 
 more truth in it in his day than in ours. It's natural for a boy to 
 be a good deal of a savage, but our civilisation is doing its best to 
 change that. Why, not long ago the lad asked me whether fish- 
 ing wasn't cruel. He evidently felt that it was, and so do I ; but I 
 couldn't say so. I laughed it off, and told him that a fish diet 
 was excellent for the brains \ " 
 
 " I hope I may have as much courage," said Harvey. 
 
 " Life is a compromise, my dear fellow. If the world at large 
 would suddenly come round to a cultivation of the amiable virtues 
 — well and good. But there's no hope of it. As it is, our little crabs 
 must gfow their hard shell, or they've no chance." 
 
 " What about progress ? In educating children, we are making 
 the new world." 
 
 Morton assented. 
 
 " But there's no hurry. The growth must be gradual — will be, 
 whether we intend it or not. The fact is, I try not to think over- 
 much about my children. It remains a doubt you know, whether 
 education has any influence worth speaking of." 
 
 "To me," said Harvey, " the doubt seems absurd. In my own 
 case, I know, a good system of training would have made an 
 enormous difference. Practically, I was left to train myself, and 
 a nice job I made of it. Do you remember how I used to talk 
 about children before I had one ? I have thought it was the talk 
 of a fool ; but, perhaps, after all, it had more sanity than my 
 views nowadays." 
 
 " Medio tutissimus," murmured Basil. 
 
 " And what about your girls ? " asked the other, when they had 
 smoked in silence. " Is the difficulty greater or less ? " 
 
 " From my point of view, less. For one thing, I can leave them 
 entirely in the hands of their mother ; if they resemble her, they 
 
322 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 won't do amiss. And there's no bother about work in life ; they 
 will have enough to live upon — just enough. Of course, they may 
 want to go out into the world. I shall neither hinder nor encour- 
 age. I had rather they stayed at home." 
 
 " Don't lose sight of the possibility that by when they are grown 
 up there may be no such thing as ' home.' The word is dying out." 
 
 Morton's pedantry led him again to murmur Latin — 
 
 •■ Mult a renascentur qua jam cecidere." 
 
 " You're the happiest man I know, or ever shall know," said 
 Rolfe, with more feeling than he cared to exhibit. 
 
 " Don't make me think about Croesus, King of Lydia. On the 
 whole, happiness means health, and health comes of occupation. 
 In one point I agree with you about yourself : it would have been 
 better if some one had found the right kind of work for you, and 
 made you stick to it. By-the-bye, how does your friend, the 
 photographic man, get on ? " 
 
 " Not at all badly. Did I tell you I had put money into it ? I 
 go there a good deal, and pretend to do something." 
 
 " Why pretend .' Couldn't you find a regular job there for a 
 few hours every day ? " 
 
 " I dare say I could. It'll be easier to get backwards and for- 
 wards from Gunnersbury. How would you like," he added, with 
 a laugh, " to live at Gunnersbury ? " 
 
 " What does it matter where one lives ? I have something of a 
 prejudice against Hoxton or Bermondsey ; but I think I could 
 get along in most other places. Gunnersbury is rather pleasant, 
 I thought. Isn't it quite near to Kew and Richmond ? " 
 
 " Do those names attract you ? " 
 
 " They have a certain charm for the rustic ear.'' 
 
 " It's all one to me. Hughie will go to school, and make friends 
 with other children. You see, he's had no chance of it yet. We 
 know a hundred people or so, but have no intimates. Is there 
 such a thing as intimacy of families in London ? I'm incHned to 
 think not. Here, you go into each other's houses without fuss 
 and sham ; you know each other, and trust each other. In Lon- 
 don there's no such comfort, at all events for educated people. If 
 you have a friend, he lives miles away ; before his children and 
 yours can meet, they must travel for an hour and a half by ' bus 
 and underground." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 323 
 
 " I suppose it must be London ? " interrupted Morton. 
 
 " I'm afraid so," Harvey replied absently, and his friend said no 
 more. 
 
 He had meant this visit to be of three days at most ; but time 
 slipped by so pleasantly that a week was gone before he could re- 
 solve on departure. Most of the mornings he spent in rambles 
 alone, rediscovering many a spot in the country round which had 
 been familiar to him as a boy, but which he had never cared to 
 seek in his revisitings of Greystone hitherto. One day, as he fol- 
 lowed the windings of a sluggish stream, he saw flowers of arrow- 
 head, white flowers with crimson centre, floating by the bank, and 
 remembered that he had once plucked them here when on a walk 
 with his father, who held him the while, lest he should stretch too 
 far and fall in. To reach them now, he lay down upon the grassy 
 brink ; and in that moment there returned to him, with exquisite 
 vividness, the mind, the senses, of childhood ; once more he knew 
 the child's pleasure in contact with earth, and his hand grasped 
 hard at the sweet-smelling turf as though to keep hold upon the 
 past thus fleetingly recovered. It was gone — no doubt, for ever ; 
 a last glimpse vouchsafed to him of life's Beginning as he set his 
 face towards the end. Then came a thought of joy. The keen 
 sensations which he himself had lost were his child's inheritance. 
 Somewhere in the fields, this summer morning, Hughie was de- 
 lighting in the scent, the touch, of earth, young amid a world 
 where all was new. The stereotyped phrase about parents living 
 again in their children became a reality and a source of deep con- 
 tent. So does a man repeat the experience of the race, and with 
 each step onward live into the meaning of some old word that he 
 has but idly echoed. 
 
 On the day before he left, a letter reached him from Alma. He 
 had felt surprise at not hearing sooner from her ; but Alma's 
 words explained the delay. 
 
 " I have been thinking a great deal," she wrote, " and I want to 
 tell you of my thoughts. Don't imagine they are mere fancies, 
 the result of ill-health. I feel all but well again, and have a per- 
 fectly clear head. And perhaps it is better that I should write 
 what I have to say, instead of speaking it. In this way I oblige 
 you to hear me out. I don't mean that you are in the habit of in- 
 terrupting me, but perhaps you would if I began to talk as I am 
 going to write. 
 
324 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Why can't we stay at Pinner ? 
 
 " There, that shall have a line to itself. Take breath, and now 
 listen again. I dislike the thought of removing to Gunnersbury— 
 really and seriously I dislike it. You know I havenit given you 
 this kind of trouble before ; when we left Wales I was quite will- 
 ing to have stayed on if you had wished it— wasn't I .' Forgive 
 me, then, for springing this upon you after all your arrangements 
 are made ; I could not do it if 1 did not feel that our happiness 
 (not mine only) is concerned. Would it be possible to cancel your 
 agreement with the Gunnersbury man ? If not, couldn't you sub- 
 let, with little or no loss ? The Pinner house isn't let yet— is it ? 
 Do let us stay^vhere we are. I think it is the first serious request 
 I ever made of you, and I think you will see that I have some right 
 to make it. 
 
 " I had rather, much rather, that Hughie did not go to Mrs. 
 Abbott's school. Don't get angry and call me foolish. What I 
 mean is, that I would rather teach him myself. In your opinion I 
 have neglected him, and I confess that you are right. There now ! 
 I shall give up my music ; at all events, I shall not play again in 
 public. I have shown what I could do, and that's enough. You 
 don't like it— though you have never tried to show me w/iy — and 
 again I feel that you are right. A professional life for me would 
 mean, I see it now, the loss of things more precious. I will give it 
 up, and live quietly at home. I will have regular hours for teach- 
 ing Hughie. If you prefer it, Pauline shall go, and I will take 
 charge of him altogether. If I do this, what need for us to remove ? 
 The house is more comfortable than the new one at Gunnersbury ; 
 we are accustomed to it ; and by being farther from London I 
 shall have less temptation to gad about. I know exactly what I 
 am promising, and I feel I can do it, now that my mind is made up. 
 
 " Need I fear a refusal ? I can't think so. Give the matter 
 your best thought, and see whether there are not several reasons 
 on my side. But, please, answer as soon as you can, for I shall be 
 in suspense till I hear from you." 
 
 Alma signed herself " Yours ever affectionately," but Harvey 
 could find no trace of affection in the letter. It astonished and 
 annoyed him. Of course, it could have but one explanation ; 
 Alma might as well have saved herself trouble by writing, in a line 
 or two, that she disliked Mrs. Abbott, and could not bear that the 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 325 
 
 child should be taught by her. He read through the pages again, 
 and grew angry.' What right had she to make such a request as 
 this, and in the tone of a demand ? Twice in the letter she 
 asserted that she had a right, asserted it as if with some myste- 
 terious reference. Had he sat down immediately to reply, Harvey 
 would have written briefly and forcibly ; for, putting aside other 
 grounds of irritation, there is nothing a man dislikes more than be- 
 ing called upon at the last moment to upset elaborate and trouble- 
 some arrangements. But he was obliged to postpone his answer 
 for a few hours, and in the meantime he grew more tolerant of 
 Alma's feelings. Had her objection come earlier, accompanied by 
 the same proposals, he would have been inclined to listen ; but 
 things had gone too far. He wrote, quite good-temperedly, but 
 without shadow of wavering. There was nothing sudden, he 
 pointed out, in the step he was about to take ; Alma had known it 
 for months, and had acquiesced in it. As for her music, he 'quite 
 agreed with her that she would find it better in every way to aban- 
 don thoughts of a public career ; and the fact of Hughie's going to 
 school for two or three hours a day would in no wise interfere with 
 her wish to see more of him. What her precise meaning was in 
 saying that she had some " right " to make this request, he de- 
 clared himself unable to discover. Was it a reproach ? If so, his 
 conscience afforded him no light, and he hoped Alma would ex- 
 plain the words in a letter to him at Pinner. 
 
 This correspondence clouded his last evening at Greystone. He 
 was glad that some acquaintances of Morton's came, and stayed 
 late ; sitting alone with his friend, he would have been tempted to 
 talk of Ahna, and he felt that silence was better just now. 
 
 By a train soon after breakfast next morning, he left the old 
 town, dearer to him each time that he beheld it, and travelled 
 slowly to the main-line junction, whence again he travelled slowly 
 to Peterborough. There the express caught him up, and flung him 
 into roaring London again. Before going to Pinner, he wi.shed to 
 see Cecil Morphew, for he had an idea to communicate — a sugges- 
 tion for the extending of business by opening correspondence with 
 out-of-the-way towns, such as Greystone. 
 
 On reaching the shop in Westminster Bridge Road, he found 
 that Morphew also had a communication to make, and of a more 
 exciting nature. 
 
326 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 CHAPTER HI 
 
 MORPHEW was engaged upstairs with the secretary of an Ama- 
 teur Photographic Society. Waiting for this person's departure, 
 Rolfe talked with the shopman— a capable fellow, aged about 
 thirty, whose heart was in the business ; he looked at a new hand- 
 camera, which seemed likely to have a good sale, and heard en- 
 couraging reports of things in general. Then Morphew came 
 down, escorting his visitor. As soon as he was free, he grasped 
 Harvey by the arm, and whispered eagerly that he had something 
 to tell him. They went upstairs together, into a room furnished 
 as an office, hung about with many framed photographs. 
 " He's dead ! " exclaimed Cecil—" he's dead ! " 
 A name was needless. Only one man's death could be the 
 cause of such excitement in Morphew, and it had been so long 
 awaited that the event had no touch of solemnity. Yet Harvey 
 perceived that his friend's exultation was not unmixed with dis- 
 quietude. 
 
 " Yesterday morning, early. I heard it by chance. Of course, 
 she hasn't written to me, but no doubt I shall hear in a few days.' 
 I walked about near the house for hours last night — like an idiot. 
 The thing seemed impossible ; 1 had to keep reminding myself, by 
 looking at the windows, that it was true. Eight years — think of 
 that! Eight years' misery, due to that fellow's snobbishness !" 
 
 In Harvey's mind the story had a somewhat different aspect. 
 He knew nothing personally of this Mr. Winter, who might indeed 
 be an incarnation of snobbery ; on the other hand, Cecil Morphew 
 had his defects, and even to a liberal-minded parent might not re- 
 commend himself as a son-in-law. Then again, the young lady 
 herself, now about six and twenty, must surely have been influ- 
 enced by some other motive than respect for her parents' wishes, 
 in thus protracting her engagement with a lover who had a secure, 
 though modest, income. Was it not conceivable that she inherited 
 something of the paternal spirit ? or, at all events, that her feelings 
 had not quite the warmth that Morphew imagined .' 
 
 " I'm glad it's over," he replied cordially. " Now begins a new 
 life for you.'' 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 327 
 
 " But eight years — eight years of waiting " 
 
 " Hang it, what is your age ? Thirty ! Why, you're only just 
 old enough. No man ought to marry before thirty." 
 
 Morphew interrupted vehemently. 
 
 " That's all rot ! Excuse me ; I can't help it. A man ought to 
 marry when he's urged to it by his nature, and as soon as he finds 
 the right woman. If I had married eight years ago — " He broke 
 off with an angry gesture, misery in his eyes. " You don't believe 
 that humbug, Rolfe ; you repeat it just to console me. There's 
 little consolation, I can assure you. I was two and twenty ; she, 
 nineteen. Mature -man and woman ; and we longed for each 
 other. Nothing but harm could come of waiting year after year, 
 wretched both of us." 
 
 " I confess," said Harvey, " I don't quite see why she waited 
 after twenty-one." 
 
 " Because she is a good, gentle girl, and could not bear to make 
 her father and mother unhappy. The blame is all theirs— mean, 
 shallow, grovelling souls ! " 
 
 " What about her mother now ? " 
 
 " Oh, she was never so obstinate as the old jackass. She'll 
 have little enough to live upon, and we shall soon arrange things 
 with her somehow. Is it credible that human beings can be so 
 senseless ? For years now, their means have been growing less 
 and less, just because the snobbish idiot would, keep up appear- 
 ances. If he had lived a little longer, the widow would have had 
 practically no income at all. Of course, she shared in the folly, 
 and I'm only sorry she won't suffer more for it. They didn't en- 
 joy their lives — never have done. They lived in miserable slavery 
 to the opinion of their fellow-snobs. You remember that story 
 about the flowers at their silver wedding : two hundred pounds — 
 just because Mrs. Somebody spent as much — when they couldn't 
 really afford two hundred shillings. And they groaned over it — 
 he and she — like people with the stomach-ache. Why, the old 
 fool died, of nothing else ; he was worn out by the fear of having 
 to go into a smaller house." 
 
 Harvey would have liked to put a question : was it possible that 
 the daughter of such people could be endowed with virtues such 
 as become the wife of a comparatively poor man ? But he had to 
 ask it merely in his own thoughts. Before long, no doubt, he 
 would meet the lady herself and appease his curiosity. 
 
328 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Whilst they were talking, there came a knock at the door ; the 
 shopman announced two ladies, who wished to inquire about some 
 photographic printing. 
 
 " Will you see them, Rolfe ? " asked Cecil. " I don't feel like it 
 — indeed I don't. You'll be able to tell them all they want." 
 
 Harvey found himself equal to the occasion, and was glad of it ; 
 he needed occupation of some kind to keep his thoughts from an 
 unpleasant subject. After another talk with Morphew, in which 
 they stuck to business, he set off homeward. 
 
 Here news awaited him. On his arrival all seemed well ; Ruth 
 opened the door, answered his greeting in her quiet, respectful way, 
 and at once brought tea to the study. When he rang to have 
 the things taken away, Ruth again appeared, and he saw now that 
 she had something unusual to say. 
 
 " I didn't like to trouble you the first thing, sir," she began — 
 " but Sarah left yesterday without giving any notice ; and I think 
 it's perhaps as well she did, sir. I've heard some things about her 
 not at all nice." 
 
 " We must find some one else, then," replied Harvey. " It's 
 lucky she didn't go at a less convenient time. Was there some 
 unpleasantness between you ? " 
 
 " I had warned her, for her own good, sir, that was all. And 
 there's something else I had perhaps better tell you now, sir." 
 Her voice, with its pleasant Welsh accent, faltered ominously. 
 " I'm very sorry indeed to say it, sir, but I shall be obliged to leave 
 as soon as Mrs. Rolfe can spare me." 
 
 Harvey was overwhelmed. He looked upon Ruth as a perma- 
 nent member of the household. She had made herself indispensa- 
 ble ; to her was owing the freedom from domestic harassment 
 which Alma had always enjoyed — a most exceptional blessing, yet 
 regarded, after all this time, as a matter of course. The departure 
 of Ruth meant conflict with ordinary servants, in which Alma 
 would assuredly be worsted. At this critical moment of their 
 life, scarcely could anything more disastrous have happened. 
 Seeing her master's consternation, Ruth was sore troubled, and 
 hastened to explain herself. 
 
 " My brother's wife has just died, sir, and left him with three 
 young children, and there's no one else can be of help to him but 
 me. He wanted me to come at once, but, of course, I told him I 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 329 
 
 couldn't do that. No one can be sorry for his wife's death ; she 
 was such a poor, silly, complaining, useless creature ; he hasn't 
 had a quiet day since he married her. She belonged to Liverpool, 
 and there they were married, and when he brought her to Carnar- 
 von I said to myself as soon as I saw her that she wouldn't be 
 much use to a working man. She began the very first day to 
 complain and to grumble, and she's gone on with it ever since. 
 When I was there in my last holiday I really wondered how he 
 bore his life. There's many women of that kind, sir, but I never 
 knew one as bad as her — never. Everything was too much trouble 
 for her, and she didn't know how to do a thing in_the house. I 
 didn't mean to trouble you with such things, sir. I only told you 
 just to show why I don't feel I can refuse to go and help him, and 
 try to give him a little peace and quiet. He's a hard-working 
 man, and the children aren't very healthy, and I'm sure I don't 
 know how he'd manage " 
 
 " You have no choice, Ruth, I see. Well, we must hope to find 
 some one in your place — but " 
 
 Just as he shook his head, the house-bell rang, and Ruth with- 
 drew to answer ij:. In a minute or two the study door opened 
 again. Harvey looked up and saw Alma. 
 
 " I was obliged to come,'' she said, approaching him, as he rose 
 in astonishment. " I thought at first of asking you to come on to 
 Basingstoke, but we can talk better here." 
 
 No sign of pleasure in their meeting passed between them. On 
 Harvey's face lingered something of the disturbance- caused by 
 Ruth's communication, and Alma understood it as due to her un- 
 expected arrival ; the smile with which she had entered died away, 
 and she stood like a stranger doubtful of her reception. 
 
 " Was it necessary to talk } " asked Rolfe, pushing forward a 
 chair, and doing his best to show good-humour. 
 
 " Yes — after your reply to my letter this morning," she answered 
 coldly. 
 
 " Well, you must have some tea first. This is cold. Won't 
 you go and take your things off, and I'll tell Ruth. By-the-bye, 
 we're in confusion." 
 
 He sketched the position of things; but Alma heard without 
 interest. 
 
 " It can't be helped," was her absent reply. " There are plenty 
 of servants." 
 
330 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Fresh tea was brought, and after a brief absence Alma sat down 
 to it. Her health had improved during the past week, but she 
 looked tired from the journey, and was glad to lean back in her 
 chair. For some minutes neither of them spoke. Harvey had 
 never seen an expression on Alma's features which was so like 
 hostility ; it moved him to serious resentment. It is common 
 enough for people who have been several years wedded to feel ex- 
 asperation in each other's presence, but for Rolfe the experience 
 was quite new, and so extremely disagreeable, that his pulses 
 throbbed with violence, and his mouth grew dry. He determined 
 to utter not a word until Alma began conversation. This she did 
 at length, with painful effort. 
 
 " I think your answer to me was very unkind." 
 
 " I didn't mean it so." 
 
 " You simply said that you wouldn't do as I wished." 
 
 " Not that I wouldn't, but that it was impossible. And I showed 
 you the reasons — though I should have thought it superfluous." 
 
 Alma waited a moment, then asked — 
 
 " Is this house let ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I suppose not." 
 
 " Then there is no reason whatever why we shouldn't stay here." 
 
 " There is every reason why we shouldn't stay here. Every ar- 
 rangement has been made for our leaving — everything fully talked 
 over. What has made you change your mind .' " 
 
 " I haven't really changed my mind. I always disliked the idea 
 of going to Gunnersbury, and you must have seen that I did ; but 
 I was so much occupied vfith — with other things; and, as I have 
 told you, I didn't feel quite the same about my position as I do 
 now." 
 
 She expressed herself awkwardly, growing very nervous. At 
 the first sign of distress in her, Harvey was able to change his tone. 
 
 " Things are going horribly wrong somehow, Alma. There's 
 only one way out of it. Just say in honest words what you mean. 
 Why do you dislike the thought of our moving ? " 
 
 " I told you in my letter," she answered, somewhat acridly. 
 
 " There was no explanation. You said something I couldn't 
 understand, about having a rig/ii to ask me to stay here.'' 
 She glanced at him with incredulous disdain. 
 " If you don't understand, I can't put it into plainer words." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 331 
 
 " Well now, let me put the whole matter into plainer words than 
 I have liked to use." Rolfe spoke deliberately, and not unkindly, 
 though he was tempted to give way to wrath at what he imagined 
 a display of ignoble and groundless jealousy. " All along I have 
 allowed you to take your own course. No, I mustn't say ' al- 
 lowed,' the word is inapplicable ; I never claimed the right to 
 dictate to you. We agreed that this was the way for rational 
 husband and wife. It seemed to us that I had no more right to 
 rule over you than you to lay down the law for me. Using your 
 freedom, you chose to live the life of an artist— that is to say, you 
 troubled yourself as little as possible about home and family. I am 
 not complaining— not a bit of it. The thing was an experiment, 
 to be sure ; but I have held to the conditions, watched their working. 
 Latterly I began to see that they didn't work well, and it appears 
 that you agree with me. This is how matters stand ; or rather, 
 this is how they stood until, for some mysterious reason, you 
 seemed to grow unfriendly. The reason is altogether mysterious ; 
 I leave you to explain it. From my point of view, the failure of 
 our experiment is simple and natural enough. Though I had only 
 myself to blame, I have felt for a long time that you were in an 
 utterly false position. Now you begin to see things in the same 
 light. Well and good ; why can't we start afresh ? The only 
 obstacle is your unfriendly feeling. Give me an opportunity of 
 removing it. I hate to be on ill terms with you ; it seems mon- 
 strous, unaccountable. It puts us on a level with married folk in 
 a London lodging-house. Is it necessary to sink quite so low ? " 
 
 Alma listened with trembling intensity, and seemed at first un- 
 able to reply. Her agitation provoked Harvey more than it ap- 
 pealed to his pity. 
 
 " If you can't do as I wish," she said at length, with an en- 
 deavour to speak calmly, " I see no use in making any change in 
 my own life. There will be no need of me. I shall make arrange- 
 ments to go on with my professional career. " 
 
 Harvey's features for a moment set themselves in combative- 
 ness, but as quickly they relaxed, and showed an ambiguous smile. 
 
 " No need of you — and Ruth going to leave us } " 
 
 " There oughtn't to be any difficulty in finding some one just as 
 good." 
 
 " Perhaps there ought not to be ; but we may thank our stars 
 
332 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 if we find any one half as trustworthy. The chances are that a 
 dozen will come and go before we settle down again. I don't en- 
 joy that prospect, and I shall want a good deal of help from you 
 in bearing the discomfort," 
 
 " What kind of help ? Of course, I shall see that the house 
 goes on as usual." 
 
 " Then it's quite certain you will have no time left for a ' pro- 
 fessional career.' " 
 
 " If I understand you, you mean that you don't wish me to have 
 any time for it." 
 
 Harvey still smiled, though he could not conceal his nervousness. 
 
 " I'm afraid it comes to that.'' 
 
 So little had Alma expected such a declaration, that she gazed 
 at him in frank surprise. 
 
 " Then you are going to oppose me in everything ? " 
 
 " I hope not. In that case we should do much better to say 
 good-bye." 
 
 The new tone perplexed her, and a puzzled interest mingled 
 with the lofty displeasure of her look. 
 
 " Please let us understand each other." She spoke with de- 
 monstrative calmness. " Are we talking on equal terms, or is it 
 master and servant ? " 
 
 " Husband and wife. Alma, that's all." 
 
 " With a new meaning in the words.'' 
 
 " No ; a very old one. I won't say the oldest, for I believe there 
 was a time when primitive woman had the making of man in every 
 sense, and somehow knocked a few ideas into his head ; but that 
 was very long ago.'' 
 
 " If I could be sure of your real meaning — ." She made an 
 irritated gesture. " How are we going to live ? You speak of 
 married people in lodging-houses. I don't know much about 
 them, happily, but I imagine the husband talks something like this 
 — though in more intelligible language." 
 
 " I dare say he does — poor man. He talks more plainly, because 
 he has never put himself in a false position — has never played fool- 
 ishly with the facts of life." 
 
 Alma sat reflecting. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you in my letter," she said at length, " that I was 
 quite willing to make a change, on one condition ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 333 
 
 " An impossible condition." 
 
 " You treat me very hiarsiily. How have I deserved it ? Wlien 
 I wrote that, I really wished to please you. Of course, I knew 
 you were dissatisfied with me, and it made me dissatisfied with 
 myself. I wrote in a way that ought to have brought me a very 
 different answer. Why do you behave as if I were guilty of some- 
 thing — as if I had put myself at your mercy ? You never found 
 fault with me — you even encouraged me to go on " 
 
 Her choking voice made Harvey look at her in apprehension, 
 and the look stopped her just as she was growing hysterical. 
 
 " You are right about my letter," he said, very gravely and 
 quietly. " It ought to have been in a kinder tone. It would have 
 been, but for those words you won't explain." 
 
 " You think it needs any explanation that I dislike the thought of 
 Hughie going to Mrs. Abbott's ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do. I can't imagine a valid ground for your ob- 
 jection." 
 
 There was a word on Alma's- tongue, but her lips would not 
 utter it. She turned very pale under the mental conflict. Physi- 
 cal weakness, instead of overcoming her spirit, excited it to a fresh 
 effort of resistance. 
 
 " Then," she said, rising from the chair, "you are not only un- 
 kind to me, but dishonest." 
 
 Harvey flushed. 
 
 " You are making yourself ill again. We had far better not 
 talk at all." 
 
 " I came up for no other purpose. We have to settle every- 
 thing.'' 
 
 " As far as I am concerned, everything is settled." 
 
 " Then I have no choice," said Alma, with subdued passion. 
 " We shall live as we have done. I shall accept any engagement 
 that offers, in London or the country, and regard music as my 
 chief concern. You wished it, and so it shall be." 
 
 Rolfe hesitated. Believing that her illness was the real cause 
 of this commotion, he felt it his duty to use all possible forbear- 
 ance ; yet he knew too well the danger of once more yielding, and 
 at such a crisis. The contest had declared itself— it was will 
 against will ; to decide it by the exertion of his sane strength 
 against Alma's hysteria might be best even for the moment. He 
 
334 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 had wrought himself to the point of unwonted energy, a state of 
 body and mind difficult to recover if now he suffered defeat. 
 Alma, turning from him, seemed about to leave the room. 
 
 " One moment " 
 
 She looked round, carelessly attentive. 
 
 "That wouldn't be living as we have done. It would bean 
 intolerable state of things after this." 
 
 " It's your own decision." 
 
 " Far from it. I wouldn't put up with it for a day.'' 
 
 " Then there's only one thing left : I must go and live by my- 
 self." 
 
 " I couldn't stand that either, and wouldn't try." 
 
 " I am no slave ! I shall live where and how I choose." 
 
 " When you have thought about it more calmly, your choice will 
 be the same as mine.'' 
 
 Trembling violently, she backed away from him. Harvey 
 thought she would fall ; he tried to hold her by the arm, but 
 Alma shook him off, and in the same moment regained her 
 strength. She faced him with a new defiance, which enabled her 
 at last to speak the words hitherto unutterable. 
 
 " How do you think I can bear to see Hughie with those chil- 
 dren .' " 
 
 Rolfe stood in amaze. The suddenness of this reversion to an- 
 other stage of their argument enhanced his natural difficulty in 
 understanding her. 
 
 " What children?" 
 
 " Those two — whatever their name may be." 
 
 " Wager's boy and girl } " 
 
 " You call them so." 
 
 " Are you going crazy ? I call them so ? — what do you 
 mean? " 
 
 A sudden misgiving appeared in Alma's eyes ; she stared at him 
 so strangely that Harvey began to fear for her reason. 
 
 " What is it, dear ? What have you been thinking ? Tell me — 
 speak like yourself " 
 
 " Why do you take so much interest in them ? " she asked 
 faintly. 
 
 "Heavens! You have suspected — ? What have you sus- 
 pected ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 335 
 
 " They are your own. I have known it for a long time." 
 
 Alarm notwithstanding, Rolfe was so struck by the absurdity of 
 this charge that he burst into stentorian laughter. Whilst he 
 laughed, Alma sank into a chair, powerless, tearful. 
 
 " I should much like to know," exclaimed Harvey, laying a hand 
 upon her, "how you made that astounding discovery. Do you 
 think they are like me .? " 
 
 " The girl is — or I thought so.'' 
 
 " After you had decided that she must be, no doubt." Again 
 he exploded in laughter. " And this is the meaning of it all ? 
 This is what you have been fretting over ? For how long ? " 
 
 Alma brushed away her tears, but gave no answer. 
 
 " And if I am their father," he pursued, with resolute mirthful- 
 ness, " pray, who do you suppose their mother to be ? " 
 
 Still Alma kept silence, her head bent. 
 
 " I'll warrant I can give you evidence against myself which 
 you hadn't discovered," Rolfe went on — "awful and unanswer- 
 able evidence. It is I who support those children, and pay for 
 their education ! — it is I, and no other. See your darkest suspi- 
 cion confirmed. If only you had known this for certain ! " 
 
 " Why, then, do you do it .'' " asked Alma, without raising her 
 eyes. 
 
 " For a very foolish reason : there was no one else who could or 
 would." 
 
 " And why did you keep it a secret from me ? " 
 
 " This is the blackest part of the whole gloomy affair," he an- 
 swered, with burlesque gravity. " It's in the depraved nature of 
 men to keep secrets from their wives, especially about money. 
 To tell the truth, I'm hanged if I know why I didn't tell you be- 
 fore our marriage. The infamous step was taken not very long 
 before, and I might as well have made a clean breast of it. Has 
 Mrs. Abbott never spoken to you about her cousin, Wager's 
 wife ? " 
 
 " A word or two." 
 
 "Which you took for artful fiction? You imagined she had 
 plotted with me to deceive you ? What, in the name of common- 
 sense, is your estimate of Mrs. Abbott's character ? " 
 
 Alma drew a deep breath, and looked up into her husband's 
 face. 
 
336 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Still — she knew you were keeping it from me, about the 
 money." 
 
 " She had no suspicion of it. She always wrote to me openly, 
 acknowledging the cheques. Would it gratify you to look through 
 her letters? " 
 
 " I believe you." 
 
 " Not quite, I fancy. Look at me again and say it." 
 
 He raised her head gently. 
 
 " Yes, I believe you — it was very silly." 
 
 " It was. The only piece of downright feminine foolishness I 
 ever knew you guilty of. But when did it begin ? " 
 
 Alma had become strangely quiet. She spoke in a low, tired 
 voice, and sat with head turned aside, resting against the back of 
 the chair ; her face was expressionless, her eyelids drooped. Rolfe 
 had to repeat his question. 
 
 " I hardly know,'' she replied. " It must have been when my 
 illness was coming on." 
 
 " So I should think. It was sheer frenzy. And now that it's 
 over, have you still any prejudice against Mrs. Abbott?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The syllable fell idly from her lips. 
 
 " You are tired, dear. All this sound and fury has been too much 
 for you. Lie down on the sofa till dinner-time." 
 
 She allowed him to lead her across the room, and lay down, as 
 he wished. To his kiss upon her forehead she made no response, 
 but closed her eyes and was very still. Harvey seated himself at 
 his desk, and opened two or three unimportant letters which had 
 arrived this morning. To one of them he wrote an answer. 
 Turning presently to glance at Alma, he saw that she had not 
 stirred, and when he leaned towards her, the sound of her breath- 
 ing told him that she was asleep. 
 
 He meditated on Woman. 
 
 A quarter of an hour before dinner-time he left the room ; on 
 his return, when the meal was ready, he found Alma still sleeping, 
 and so soundly that it seemed wrong to wake her. As rays of sun- 
 set had begun to fall into the room, he drew the blind, then quietly 
 went out, and had dinner by himself. 
 
 At ten o'clock Alma still slept. Using a _closely shaded lamp, 
 Harvey sat in the room with her and read — or seemed to read ; for 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 337 
 
 ever and again his eyes strayed to the still figure, and his thoughts 
 wandered over all he knew of Alma's life. He wished he knew 
 more, that he might better understand her. Of her childhood, her 
 early maidenhood, what conception had he ? Yet he and she were 
 one — so said the creeds. And Harvey laughed to himself, a laugh 
 more of melancholy than of derision.. 
 
 The clock ticked on ; it was near to eleven. Then Alma stirred, 
 raised hers elf, and looked towards the light. 
 
 " Harvey—? Have I been asleep so long?" 
 
 " Nearly five hours.'' 
 
 " Oh ! That was last night " 
 
 " You mean, you had no sleep ? " 
 
 "Didn't close my eyes." 
 
 " And you feel better now ? '' 
 
 " Ratjier hungry." 
 
 Rolfe laughed. He had seated himself on the couch by her and 
 held her in his arms. 
 
 " Why, then we'll have some supper — a cold fowl and a bottle of 
 Burgundy — a profligate supper, fit for such abandoned characters ; 
 and over it you shall tell me how the world looked to you when you 
 were ten years old." 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Alma returned to Basingstoke, and remained there until the 
 new house was ready for her reception. With the help of her 
 country friends she engaged two domestics, cook and housemaid, 
 who were despatched to Gunnersbury in advance ; they had good 
 " characters," and might possibly co-operate with their new mis- 
 tress in her resolve to create an admirable household. Into this 
 ambition Alma had thrown herself with no less fervour than that 
 which carried her off to wild Wales five years ago ; but her aim 
 was now strictly " practical,'' she would have nothing more to do 
 with " ideals " ; she took lessons in domestic economy from the 
 good people at Basingstoke. Yes, she had found her way at last ! 
 Alma saw it in the glow of a discovery, this calm, secure, and grace- 
 ful middle-way. She talked of it with an animation that surprised 
 
s 
 
 338 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 and pleased her little circle down in Hampshire ; those ladies had 
 never been able to illumine their everyday discharge of duty with 
 such high imaginative glory. In return for their humble lessons, 
 Alma taught them to admire themselves, to see in their place and 
 functions a nobility they had never suspected. 
 
 For a day or two after her arrival at Gunnersbury, Harvey 
 thought that he had never seen her look so well ; certainly she had 
 never shown the possibilities of her character to such advantage. 
 It seemed out of the question that any trouble could ever again 
 come between them. Only when the excitement of novelty had 
 ubsided did he perceive that Alma was far from having recovered 
 her physical strength. A walk of a mile or two exhausted her ; 
 she came home from an hour's exercise with Hughie pale and 
 tremulous ; and of a morning it was often to be noticed that she 
 had not slept well. Without talking of it, Harvey planned the 
 holiday which Alma had declared would be quite needless this year ; 
 he took a house in Norfolk for September. Before the day of de- 
 parture, Alma had something to tell him, which, by suggesting 
 natural explanation of her weakness, made him less uneasy. Re- 
 membering the incident which had brought to a close their life in 
 Wales, he saw with pleasure that Alma no longer revolted against 
 the common lot of woman. Perhaps, indeed, the announcement 
 she made to him was the cause of more anxiety in his mind than 
 in hers. 
 
 They took their servants with them, and left the house to a care- 
 taker. Pauline Smith, though somewhat against Harvey's judg- 
 ment, had been called upon to resign ; Alma wished to have 
 Hughie to herself, save during his school hours ; he slept in her 
 room, and she tended him most conscientiously. Harvey had 
 asked whether she would like to invite any one, but she preferred 
 to be alone. 
 
 This month by the northern sea improved her health, but she 
 had little enjoyment. After a few days, she wearied of the shore 
 and the moorland, and wished herself back at Gunnersbury. 
 Nature had never made much appeal to her ; when she spoke of 
 its beauties with admiration, she echoed the approved phrases, 
 little more ; all her instincts drew towards the life of a great town. 
 Sitting upon the sand, between cliff and breakers, she lost herself 
 in a dream of thronged streets and brilliant rooms ; the voice of 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 339 
 
 the waves became the roar of traffic, a far sweeter music. With 
 every year this tendency had grown stronger ; she could only 
 marvel, now, at the illusion which enabled her to live so long, all 
 but contentedly, in that wilderness where Hughie was born. 
 Rather than return to it, she would die— rather, a thousand times. 
 Happily, there was no such danger. Harvey would never ask her 
 to leave London. All he desired was that she should hold apart 
 from certain currents of town life ; and this she was resolved to 
 do, knowing how nearly they had swept her to destruction. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to take up your sketching again ? " said 
 Harvey one day, when he saw that she felt dull. 
 
 "Sketching? Oh, I had forgotten all about it. It seems ages 
 ago. I should have to begin and learn all over again. No, no ; it 
 isn't worth while. I shall have no time." 
 
 She did not speak discontentedly, but Rolfe saw already the 
 justification of his misgivings. She had begun to feel the constant 
 presence of the child a restraint and a burden. 
 
 Happily, on their return home, Hughie would go to school for a 
 couple of hours each morning. Alma could have wished it any 
 other school than Mary Abbott's, but the thought was no longer so 
 insupportable as when she suffered under her delusion concerning 
 the two children. Now that she had frequently seen Minnie 
 Wager, she wondered at the self-deception which allowed her to 
 detect in the child's face a distinct resemblance to Harvey. Of 
 course, there was nothing of the kind. She had been the victim 
 of a morbid jealousy — a symptom, no doubt, of the disorder of the 
 nerves which was growing upon her. Yet she could not overcome 
 her antipathy to Mary Abbott. Harvey, she felt sure, would 
 never have made himself responsible for those children, but that in 
 doing so he benefited their teacher ; and it was not without motive 
 of conscience that he kept the matter secret. By no effort could 
 Alma banish this suspicion. She resolved that it should never 
 appear ; she commanded her face and her utterance ; but it was 
 impossible for her ever to regard Mrs. Abbott with liking, or even 
 with respect. 
 
 In a darker corner of her mind lay hidden another shape of 
 jealousy — jealousy unavowed, often disguised as fear, but for the 
 most part betraying itself through the mask of hatred. 
 
 Times innumerable, in nights that brought no rest, and through 
 
34° THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 long hours of weary day. Alma had put her heart to the proof, and 
 acquitted it of any feeling save a natural compassion for the man 
 Hugh Carnaby had killed. She had never loved Redgrave, had 
 never even thought of him with that curiosity which piques the 
 flesh ; yet so inseparably was he associated with her life at its 
 points of utmost tension and ardour, that she could not bear to 
 yield to any other woman a closer intimacy, a prior claim. At her 
 peril she had tempted him, and up to the fatal moment she was 
 still holding her own in the game which had become to her a 
 passion. It ended — because a rival came between. Of Sibyl's 
 guilt she never admitted a doubt ; it was manifest in the story 
 made public by Hugh Carnaby, the story which he, great simple 
 fellow, told in all good faith, relying absolutely on his wife's asser- 
 tion of innocence. Saving her husband, who believed Sibyl inno- 
 cent ? 
 
 She flattered herself with the persuasion that it was right to hate 
 Sibyl — a woman who had sold herself for money, whose dishon- 
 our differed in no respect from that of the woman of the pave- 
 ment. And all the more she hated her because she feared her. 
 What security could there be that Redgrave's murderer (thus she 
 thought of him) had kept the secret which he promised to keep ? 
 That he allowed no hint of it to escape him in public did not prove 
 that he had been equally scrupulous with Sibyl ; for Hugh was a 
 mere plaything in the hands of his wife, and it seemed more than 
 likely that he had put his stupid conscience at rest by telling her 
 everything. Were it so, what motive would weigh with Sibyl to 
 keep her silent ? One, and one only, could be divined : a fear lest 
 Alma, through intimacy with Redgrave, might have discovered 
 things which put her in a position to dare the enmity of her former 
 friend. This, no doubt, would hold Sibyl to discretion. Yet it 
 could not relieve Alma from the fear of her, and of Hugh Carnaby 
 himself — fear which must last a lifetime ; which at any moment, 
 perhaps long years hence, might find its bitter fulfilment, and 
 work her ruin. For Harvey Rolfe was not a man of the stamp of 
 Hugh Carnaby : he would not be hoodwinked in the face of damn- 
 ing evidence, or lend easy ear to specious explanations. The 
 very fact that she cou/d explain her ambiguous behaviour was to 
 Aima an enhancement of the dread with which she thought of 
 such a scene between herself and Harvey ; for to be innocent, and 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 341 
 
 yet unable to force conviction of it upon his inmost mind, would 
 cause her a deeper anguish than to fall before him with confession 
 of guilt. And to convince him would be impossible, for ever im- 
 possible. Say what she might, and however generous the re- 
 sponse of his love, there must still remain the doubt which 
 attaches to a woman's self-defence when at the same time she is 
 a self-accuser. 
 
 In the semi-delirium of her illness, whilst wailing in torment for 
 the assurance that Carnaby had kept her secret, she more than 
 once prayed for Sibyl's death. In her normal state of mind Alma 
 prayed for nothing ; she could not hope that Sibyl's life would 
 come to a convenient end ; but as often as she thought of her, it 
 was with a vehemence of malignity which fired her imagination to 
 all manner of ruthless extremes. It revolted her to look back 
 upon the time when she sat at that woman's feet, a disciple, an 
 affectionate admirer, allowing herself to be graciously patronised, 
 counselled, encouraged. The repose of manner which so im- 
 pressed her, the habitual serenity of mood, the unvarying self-con- 
 fidence — oh, these were excellent qualities when it came to playing 
 the higb part of cold and subtle hypocrisy ! She knew Sibyl, and 
 could follow the workings of her mind : a woman incapable of love, 
 or of the passion which simulates it ; worshipping herself, offer- 
 ing luxuries to her cold flesh as to an idol ; scornful of the possi- 
 bility that she might ever come to lack what she desired ; and, at 
 the critical moment, prompt to secure herself against such danger 
 by the smiling, cynical acceptance of whatsoever shame. Alma 
 had no small gift of intuition ; proved by the facility and fervour 
 with which she could adapt her mind to widely different concep- 
 tions of life. This characteristic, aided by the perspicacity which 
 is bestowed upon every jealous woman, perchance enabled hereto 
 read the mysterious Sibyl with some approach to exactness. 
 Were it so, prudence should have warned her against a struggle 
 for mere hatred's sake with so formidable an antagonist. But the 
 voice of caution had never long audience with Alma, and was not 
 likely, at any given moment, to prevail against a transport of her 
 impetuous soul. 
 
 Harvey, meanwhile, fearing her inclination to brood over the 
 dark event, tried to behave as though he had utterly dismissed it 
 from his thoughts. He kept a cheerful countenance, talked much 
 
342 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 more than usual, and seemed full of health and hope. As usual 
 between married people, this resolute cheerfulness had, more often 
 than not, an irritating effect upon Alma. Rolfe erred once more 
 in preferring to keep silence about difficulties rather than face 
 the unpleasantness of frankly discussing them. One good, long, 
 intimate conversation about Mrs. Carnaby, with unrestricted ex- 
 change of views, the masculine and the feminine, with liberal ac- 
 ceptance of life as it is Hved, and honest contempt of leering 
 hypocrisies, would have done more, at this juncture, to put 
 healthy tone into Alma's being than any change of scene and of 
 atmosphere, any medicament or well-meant summons to forgetful- 
 ness. Like the majority of good and thoughtful men, he could 
 not weigh his female companion in the balance he found good 
 enough for mortals of his own sex. With a little obtuseness to 
 the " finer " feelings, a little native coarseness in his habits towards 
 women, he would have succeeded vastly better amid the compli- 
 cations of his married life. 
 
 Troubles of a grosser kind, such as heretofore they had been 
 wonderfully spared, began to assail .them during their month in 
 Norfolk. One morning, about midway in the holiday, Harvey, as 
 he came down for a bath before breakfast, heard loud and angry 
 voices from the kitchen. On his return after bathing, he found 
 the breakfast-table very carelessly laid, with knives unpolished, and 
 other such neglects of seemliness. Alma, appearing with Hughie, 
 spoke at once of the strange noises she had heard, and Harvey 
 gave his account of the uproar. 
 
 " I thought something was wrong," said Alma. " The cook has 
 seemed in a bad temper for several days. I don't like either of 
 them. I think I shall give them both notice, and advertise at once. 
 They say that advertising is the best way.'' 
 
 The housemaid (in her secondary function of parlor-maid) waited 
 at table with a scowl. The fish was ill fried, the eggs were hard, 
 the toast was soot-smeared. For the moment Alma made no re- 
 mark ; but half-an-hour later, when Harvey and the child had ram- 
 bled off to the sea-shore, she summoned both domestics, and 
 demanded an explanation of their behaviour. Her tone was not 
 conciliatory ; she had neither the experience nor the tact which are 
 necessary in the mistress of a household, and it needed only an 
 occasion such as this to bring out the contemptuousness with 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 343 
 
 which she regarded her social inferiors. Too well-bred to indulge 
 in scolding or wrangling, the delight of a large class of housewives, 
 Alma had a quiet way of exhibiting displeasure and scorn, which 
 told smartly on the nerves of those she rebuked. No one could 
 better have illustrated the crucial difficulty of the servant-question, 
 which lies in the fact that women seldom can rule, and all but in- 
 variably dislike to be ruled by, their own sex ; a difficulty which in- 
 creases with the breaking up of social distinctions. 
 
 She went out into the sunshine, and found Harvey and Hughie 
 building a great castle of sand. Her mood was lightsome, for she 
 felt that she had acted with decision and in a way worthy of her 
 dignity. 
 
 " They will both go about their business. I only hope we may 
 get meals for the rest of the time here." 
 Harvey nodded, with closed lips. 
 " It's a pity Pauline went," he remarked presently. 
 " I'm afraid it is. I hadn't quite realised what it would mean." 
 " I rather think I ventured to say something of that kind, didn't 
 I ? She may not have taken another place. Suppose you write 
 to her ? " 
 Alma seemed to waver. 
 
 "What I am thinking," she said in a lower tone, "is that— be- 
 fore long— we shall need— I suppose— some one of a rather differ- 
 ent kind— an ordinary nurse-girl. But you wouldn't like Hughie 
 to be with any onq of that sort ? " 
 " It wouldn't matter now." 
 
 " Here's the philosophy of the matter in a nut shell," said Har- 
 vey afterwards. " Living nowadays means keeping up appear- 
 ances, and you must do it just as carefully before your own servants 
 as before your friends. The alternatives are, one general servant, 
 with frank confession of poverty, or a numerous household and 
 everything comme ilfaut. There's no middle way, with peace. I 
 think your determination to take care of Hughie yourself was 
 admirable ; but it won't work. These two women think you do it 
 because you can't afford a nurse, and at once they despise us. It's 
 the nature of the beasts— it's the tone of the time. Nothing will 
 keep them and their like in subordination but a jingling of the 
 purse. One must say to them all day long, ' I am your superior ; I 
 can buy you by the dozen, if need be ; I never need soil my finger 
 
344 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 wiLh any sort of work, and you know it.' Ruth was a good crea- 
 ture, but I seriously doubt wliether she would have been quite so 
 good if she hadn't seen us keeping our horse and our gardener and 
 our groom down yonder— everything handsome about us. For 
 the sake of quietness we must exalt ourselves.'' 
 
 "You're quite right about Ruth," replied Alma, laughing. 
 " Several times she has let me see how she admired my life of 
 idleness ; but it's just that I don't want to go back to." 
 
 " No need. Ruth was practically a housekeeper. You can 
 manage your own house, but you must have a servant for every- 
 thing. Get a nurse, by all means." 
 
 Alma drew a breath of contentment. 
 
 " You are not dissatisfied with me, Harvey .' " 
 
 " Of course not.'' 
 
 " But tell me — how does Mrs. Morton manage } Why isn't she 
 despised by her servants when she's always so busy ? ". 
 
 Harvey had to close his lips against the first answer which 
 occurred to him. 
 
 " For one thing," he replied, " there's a more natural state of 
 things in those little towns ; something of the old spirit still lives. 
 Then the Mortons have the immense advantage of being an old 
 family, settled there for generations, known and respected by 
 every one. That's a kind of superiority one can't buy, and goes 
 for a great deal in comfortable living. Morton's servants are the 
 daughters of people who served his parents. From their child- 
 hood they have thought it would be a privilege to get into that 
 house." 
 
 " Impossible in London." 
 
 " Unless you are a duchess." 
 
 " What a pleasant thing it must be," said Alma musingly, " to 
 have ancestors." 
 
 Harvey chuckled. 
 
 " The next best thing is to have descendants.'' 
 
 " Why, then," exclaimed Alma, " we become ancestors ourselves. 
 But one ought to have an interesting house to live in. Nobody's 
 ancestors ever lived in a semi-detached villa. What I should like 
 would be one of those picturesque old places down in Surrey — 
 quite in the country, yet within easy reach of town ; a house with 
 a real garden, and perhaps an orchard. I believe you can get 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 345 
 
 them very cheap sometimes. Not rent the house, but buy it. 
 Then we would have our portraits painted, and " 
 
 Harvey asked himself how long Alma would find satisfaction in 
 such a home ; but it pleased him to hear her talking thus of the 
 things which were his own hopeless dream. 
 
 "That reminds me. Alma, you have never sat yet for your 
 picture, as I said you should." 
 
 " We must wait — now." 
 
 " It shall be done next year." 
 
 They were content with each other this evening, and looked 
 forward to pleasures they might have in common. For Harvey 
 had learnt to nourish only the humblest hopes, and Alma thought 
 she had subdued herself to an undistinguished destiny. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Determined to have done once for all with a task she loathed. 
 Alma wrote out her advertisements for cook, house-parlour-maid, 
 and nurse, and sent them to half a dozen newspapers. After 
 three weeks of correspondence with servants and mistresses — a 
 correspondence which, as Rolfe said, would have made a printed 
 volume of higher sociological interest than anything yet published, 
 or likely to be — the end of her patience and her strength compelled 
 her to decide, half desperately, and engage the three young women 
 who appeared least insolent. At the same time she had to find a 
 new boy, for boots, windows, knives, and coals, the youngster 
 hitherto employed having been so successful with his " book " on 
 Kempton Park and Hurst Park September meetings that he re- 
 linquished menial duties and devoted himself wholly to the turf ; 
 but this was such a simple matter, compared with the engaging of 
 indoor domestics, that she felt it almost a delight. When a strong, 
 merry-looking lad presented himself, eager for the job, and speak- 
 ing not a word that was beside the point, Alma could have patted 
 his head. 
 
 She amused Harvey that evening by exclaiming with the very 
 accent of sincerity — 
 
 " How I like men, and how I detest women ! " 
 
 Her nerves were so upset again that, when all was over, she 
 
346 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 had to keep her bed for a day or two. At the seaside she had 
 generally slept pretty well, but now her insomnia returned, and 
 once more she had recourse to the fashionable specific. Harvey 
 knew nothing of this ; she was careful to hide it from him ; and 
 each time she measured out her dose she assured herself that it 
 should be the last. 
 
 Oh, but to lie through those terrible small hours, her brain 
 feverishly active, compelling her to live again in the scenes and 
 the emotions she most desired to forget ! She was haunted by the 
 voice of Cyrus Redgrave, which at times grew so distinct to her 
 hearing that it became an hallucination. Her memory reproduced 
 his talk with astonishing fidelity ; it was as though she had learnt 
 it by heart, instead of merely listening to it at the time. This only 
 in the silence of night ; during the day she could not possibly have 
 recalled a tenth of what her brain thus treacherously preserved. 
 
 In sleep she sometimes dreamt of him, and that was perhaps 
 worse ; for whilst the waking illusion only reproduced what he 
 had actually said, with all his tricks of tone, his suavities of ex- 
 pression, sleep brought before her another Redgrave. He looked 
 at her with a smile, indeed, but a smile of such unutterable 
 malignity that she froze with terror. It was always the same. 
 Redgrave stood before her smiling, silent ; stood and gazed until 
 in a paroxysm of anguish she cried out and broke the dream. 
 Once, whilst the agony was upon her, she sprang from bed, mean- 
 ing to go to her husband and tell him everything, and so, it might 
 be, put an end to her sufferings. But with her hand upon t"he 
 door she lost courage. Impossible ! She could not hope to be 
 believed. She could never convince her husband that she had 
 told him all. 
 
 Upon her lay the guilt of Redgrave's death. This had entered 
 slowly into her consciousness ; at first rejected, but ever returning 
 until the last argument of self-solace gave way. But for her visit 
 to the bungalow that evening, Hugh Carnaby would not have 
 been maddened to the point of fatal violence. In the obscurity 
 he had mistaken her figure for that of Sibyl ; and when Redgrave 
 guarded her retreat, he paid for the impulse with his life. 
 
 On the Sunday before her concert, she had thought of going to 
 see Redgrave, but the risk seemed too great, and there was no 
 certainty of finding him at home. She wished above all things to 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 347 
 
 see him, for there was a suspicion in her mind that Mrs. Strange- 
 ways had a plot against her, though of its nature she could form no 
 idea. It might be true that Redgrave was purposely holding 
 aloof, whether out of real jealousy, or simply as a stratagem, a 
 new move in the game. She would not write to him ; she knew 
 the danger of letters, and had been careful never to write him even 
 the simplest note. If she must remain in uncertainty about his 
 attitude towards her, the approaching ordeal would be intensified 
 with a new agitation : was he coming to her recital, or was he 
 not ? She had counted upon triumphing before him. If| he could 
 stay away, her power over him was incomplete, and at the mo- 
 ment when she had meant it to be irresistible. 
 
 The chance encounter on Monday with Hugh Carnaby made 
 her think of Sibyl, and she could not rest until she had endeavoured 
 to learn something of Sibyl's movements. As Carnaby was leav- 
 ing town, his wife would be free ; and how did Sibyl use her 
 freedom !" On that subject Mrs. Strangeways had a decided opin- 
 ion, and her knowledge of the world made it more than probable 
 that she was right. Without any scheme of espionage, obeying 
 her instinct of jealous enmity. Alma hastened to Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge Mansions. But Sibyl had left home, and — was not ex- 
 pected to return that night. 
 
 How she spent the next few hours Alma could but dimly re- 
 member. It was a vortex of wretchedness. As dark fell she 
 found herself at the gate leading to the bungalow, lurking, listen- 
 ing, waiting for courage to go further. She stole at length over 
 the grass behind the bushes, until she could see the lighted window 
 of Redgrave's study. The window was open. She crept nearer 
 and nearer, till she was actually in the verandah and looking into 
 the room. Redgrave sat within, smoking and reading a newspaper. 
 She purposely made a movement which drew his attention. 
 
 How would it have ended but for Hugh Carnaby? 
 
 Beyond ascertaining that Sibyl was not there, she had of course 
 discovered nothing of what she wished to know. As likely as not 
 she had come too early. Redgrave's behaviour when she drew 
 his attention suggested that such a sound at the open window did 
 not greatly surprise him ; the surprise appeared when he saw who 
 stood there — surprise and momentary embarrassment, which 
 would be natural enough if he expected a different visitor. And 
 
348 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 he was so anxious that she should come in at once. Had she 
 done so, Redgrave's life would have been saved ; but 
 
 Its having been publicly proved that Mrs. Carnaby was then far 
 away from Wimbledon did not tend to shake Alma's conviction. 
 The summons to her mother's deathbed had disturbed Sibyl's ar- 
 rangements, that was all. Most luckily for her, as it turned out. 
 But women of that kind (said Alma bitterly) are favoured by for- 
 tune. 
 
 Locked in a drawer of her writing- table lay a bundle of letters 
 and papers which 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 de- 
 served 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 breakdovv'n 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 feeHng of friendliness, but because 
 she could not overcome a certain fear of the man. He was capa- 
 ble of any meanness, perhaps of villainy ; and perhaps he har- 
 boured malice against her, seeing that she had foiled him to the 
 last. She penned a few lines asking him to let her have a com- 
 plete 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 tovirn 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 mu- 
 sical 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 repre- 
 sented her debut as a striking success. Had she been able to use 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 349 
 
 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 para- 
 graphed, 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. To-day she all but found courage to throw 
 these newspapers into the lire ; it would be a final sacrifice, a 
 grave symbolic act, and might bring her peace. Yet she could 
 not. Long years hence, would it not be a legitimate pride to 
 show these things to her children ? A misgiving mingled with 
 the thought, but her reluctance prevailed. She made up a parcel, 
 wrote upon it, "My Recital, May 1891," and locked it up with 
 other most private memorials. 
 
 She had not long to wait for her answer from Dymes. He 
 apologised for his delay in the matter of business, and promised 
 that a detailed statement should be sent to her in a very few days. 
 The unfortunate state of her health— here Alma smiled— moyed 
 him to sympathy and profound regret ; her abandonment of a pro- 
 fessional career could not, 7nust not, be a final decision ! 
 
 Something prompted her to hand this letter to Harvey. 
 
 " I took it for granted," he said humorously, " that the man had 
 sent you a substantial cheque long ago." 
 
 " I believe the balance will be on my side." 
 
 " Would you like me to see to the rest of the business for 
 you ? " 
 
 " I don't think that's necessary, is it ? " 
 
 To her relief, Harvey said no more. She waited for the pro- 
 mised balance sheet, but weeks passed by and it did not arrive. 
 An explanation of this readily occurred to her : Dymes calculated 
 upon bringing her to an interview. She thought of Harvey's pro- 
 posal, and wished she could dare to accept it; biit the obscure 
 risks were too great. So, months elapsed, till the affair seemed 
 forgotten. 
 
 They never spoke to each other of Hugh Carnaby or of Sibyl. 
 
 Meanwhile, Alma did not lack society. Mrs. Abbott, whom. 
 
350 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 without change of feehng, she grew accustomed to see frequently, 
 introduced her to the Langland family, and in Mrs Langland she 
 found a not uncongenial acquaintance. This lady had known 
 many griefs, and seemed destined to suffer many more ; she had 
 wrinkles on her face which should not have been there at forty- 
 five ; but no one ever heard her complain or saw her look down- 
 hearted. 
 
 In her zeal for housewifery, Alma saw much to admire and to 
 imitate in Mrs. Langland. She liked the good-humoured modesty 
 with which the elder lady always spoke of herself, and was not dis- 
 pleased at observing an air of deference when the conversation 
 turned on such high matters as literature and art. Mrs. Lang- 
 land knew all about the recital at Prince's Hall ; she knew, more- 
 over, as appeared from a casual remark one day, that Mrs. Rolfe 
 had skill in " landscape painting." 
 
 " Who told you that ? " asked Alma, with surprise. 
 
 " I hope it wasn't a secret. Mrs. Abbott spoke of your water- 
 colors once. She was delighted with them.'' 
 
 Praise even from Mary Abbott gratified Alma ; it surprised her, 
 and she doubted its sincerity, but there was satisfaction in know- 
 ing that her fame went abroad among the people at Gunnersbury. 
 Without admiration she could not live, and nothing so severely 
 tested her resolution to be content with the duties of home as Har- 
 vey's habit of taking all for granted, never remarking upon her life 
 of self-conquest, never soothing her with the flatteries for which 
 she hungered. 
 
 She hailed with delight the first visit after several months from her 
 friends Dora and Gerda Leach. During the summer their father's 
 health had suffered so severely that the overwrought man found 
 himself compelled to choose between a long holiday abroad and 
 the certainty of complete collapse if he tried to pursue his ordinary 
 life. The family went away, and returned in November, when it 
 seemed probable that the money-making machine known as Mr. 
 Leach had been put into tolerable working order for another year 
 or so. Not having seen Alma since her recital, the girls over- 
 flowed with talk about it, repeating all the eulogies they had heard, 
 and adding such rapturous laudation of their own that Alma could 
 have hung upon their necks in gratitude. They found it impossi- 
 ble to believe that she would no more play in public. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 351 
 
 " Oh, but when you are quite well ! " they exclaimed. " It 
 would be a shame — a sin ! " 
 
 In writing to them, Alma had put her decision solely on the 
 ground of health. Now, assuming a countenance of gentle 
 gravity, she made known her higher reasons. 
 
 " I have felt it to be my duty. Remember that I can't consider 
 myself alone. I found that I must either devote myself wholly to 
 music or give it up altogether. You girls can't very well under- 
 stand. When one is a wife and a mother — . I thought it all over 
 during my illness. I had been neglecting rny husband and 
 Hughie, and it was too bad — downright selfishness. Art and 
 housekeeping won't go together ; I thought they might, but found 
 my mistake. Of course, it cost me a struggle, but that's over. I 
 have learnt to renounce!' 
 
 " It's very noble of you ! " murmured Dora Leach. 
 
 " I never heard anything so noble ! " said her sister. 
 
 Alma flushed with pleasure. 
 
 " And yet you know," Dora pursued, " artists have a duty to 
 the world." 
 
 " I can't help questioning," said Gerda, " whether you had a 
 right to sacrifice yourself." 
 
 Alma smiled thoughtfully. 
 
 " You can't quite see it as I do. When one has children " 
 
 " It must make a great difference " — " Oh, a great difference ! " 
 — responded the sisters. And again they exclaimed at the spec- 
 tacle of such noble devotedness. 
 
 By natural transition the talk turned to Mrs. Carnaby. The 
 girls spoke of her compassionately, but Alma soon perceived that 
 they did not utter all their thoughts. 
 
 " I'm afraid," she said, " that some people take another view. 
 I have heard— but one doesn't care to repeat such things." 
 
 Dora and Gerda betrayed a lively interest. Yes, they, too, had 
 heard disagreeable gossip ; what a shame it was ! 
 
 " Of course, you see her } " said Dora. 
 
 Alma shook her head, and seemed a trifle embarrassed. 
 
 " I don't even know whether she still lives there." 
 
 "Oh yes, she does," replied Miss Leach eagerly. "But I've 
 been told that very few people go. I wondered— we rather wished 
 to know whether _j'ca did." 
 
352 
 
 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Again Alma gently shook her head. 
 
 " I haven't even heard from her. I suppose she has her rea- 
 sons. To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure that my husband 
 would like me to call. It isn't a pleasant subject, is it .' Let us 
 talk of something else." 
 
 So, when Dora and Gerda went away, they carried with them 
 the conviction that Mrs. Carnaby was an " impossible " per- 
 son, and of course lost no opportunity of imparting it to their 
 friends. 
 
 About a week before Christmas, when the new servants seemed 
 to have settled to their work, and the house routine needed less 
 supervision. Alma and her husband dined at the Langlands', to 
 meet a few quiet people. Among the guests was Mrs. Langland's 
 brother, of whom Alma had already heard, and whom, before 
 the end of the evening, she came to regard with singular interest. 
 Mr, Thistlewood had no advantages of physique, and little charm 
 of manner ; his long, meagre body never seemed able to put itself 
 at ease ; sitting or standing, he displayed the awkwardness of a 
 naturally shy man who has not studied the habits of society. But 
 his features, in spite of irregularity, and a complexion resembling 
 the tone of " foxed " paper, attracted observation, and rewarded 
 it ; his eye had a pleasant twinkle, oddly in contrast with the lines 
 of painful thought upon his forehead, and the severity of strained 
 muscles in the lower part of his face, He was head.-master of a 
 small school of art in a northern county ; a post which he had 
 held only for a twelvemonth. Like his sister's husband, Thistle- 
 wood suffered from disappointed ambition, for he had aimed at 
 great things as a painter ; but he accepted his defeat, and at thirty- 
 five was seeking content in a " sphere of usefulness " which pro- 
 mised, after all, to give scope to his best faculties. Not long ago 
 he would have scorned the thought of becoming a "teacher"; 
 yet for a teacher he was born, and the truth, in dawning upon his 
 mind, had brought with it a measure of consolation, 
 
 A finger missing from his left hand told a story of student life 
 in Paris. It was a quarrel with a young Frenchman, about a girl. 
 He and his rival happening to sit opposite to each other at a restau- 
 rant table, high words arose between them, and the Frenchman 
 eventually made a stab at Thistlewood's hand with his dinner-fork. 
 That ended the dispute, but the finger had to come off. Not long 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 353 
 
 afterwards Thistlewood accepted an engagement to go as artist 
 with a party of English explorers into Siberia. On his return he 
 lingered for a week or two in St. Petersburg, and there chanced to 
 meet the girl who had cost him one of his digits. She, like him- 
 self, had been in pursuit of adventures ; but, whereas the artist 
 came back with a well-filled purse, the wandering damsel was at 
 her last sou. They journeyed together to London, and for the 
 next year or two Thistlewood had the honour of working himself 
 almost to death to support a very expensive young woman, who 
 cared no more for him than for her cast-off shoes. Happily, some 
 richer man was at length found who envied him his privilege, and 
 therewith ended Thistlewood's devotion to the joys of a bohemian 
 life. Ever since, his habits had been excessively sober — perhaps a 
 little morose. But Mrs. Langland, who now saw him once a year, 
 thought him in every respect improved. Moreover, she had a 
 project for his happiness, and on that account frequently glanced 
 at him during. dinner, as he conversed, much more fluently than of 
 wont, with his neighbour, Mrs. Abbott. 
 
 Alma sat on the other side of the table, and was no less obser- 
 vant than the hostess of a peculiar animation on Mr. Thistlewood's 
 dark visage. To be sure, she knew nothing of him, and it might 
 be his habit to wear that look when he talked with ladies ; but 
 Alma thought it unlikely. And it seemed to her that Mary Abbott, 
 though much as usual in manner, had a just perceptible gleam of 
 countenance beyond what one was accustomed to remark in her 
 moments of friendly conversation. This, too, might be merely the 
 result of a little natural excitement, seeing that the schoolmistress 
 so seldom dined from home. But, in any case, the proximity of 
 these two persons was curiously interesting and suggestive. 
 
 In the drawing-room, presently. Alma had a pleasant little talk 
 with Mr. Thistlewood. By discreet experiment, she satisfied her- 
 self that Mrs. Abbott's name certainly quickened his interest ; and, 
 having learnt so much, it was easy, Dy representing herself as that 
 lady's old and intimate friend, to win from the man a significant 
 look of pleasure and confidence. They talked of art, of landscape, 
 and it appeared that Thistlewood was acquainted with the part of 
 Carnarvonshire where Alma had lived. What was more, he had 
 heard of her charming water-colours, and he would so much like 
 to see them. 
 
354 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Some enemy has done this," replied Alma, laughing gaily. 
 " Was it Mrs. Abbott ? " 
 
 " No, it was not," he answered, with corresponding vivacity. 
 
 " Why, then, it must have been Mrs. Langland, and I have a 
 good mind to put her to open shame by asking you to come and 
 see my wretched daubs." 
 
 Nothing would please him better, declared Thistlewood ; and 
 thereupon he accepted an invitation to tea for the following after- 
 noon. 
 
 Alma asked no one else. She understood that this man was 
 only to be observed under favourable conditions by isolating him. 
 She wished, moreover, to bring him into fireside conversation with 
 Harvey, and to remark her husband's demeanour. By way of 
 preparation for this conjuncture, she let fall, in private chat with 
 Harvey, a word or two which pointed humorously at her suspi- 
 cions concerning Thistlewood and Mary Abbott. The hearer ex- 
 hibited an incredulous surprise. 
 
 " It was only a fancy," said Alma, smiling rather coldly ; and 
 she felt more desirous than ever of watching her husband in This- 
 tlewood's presence. 
 
 Unexpectedly, from her point of view, the two men got along 
 together very well indeed. Harvey, thoroughly cordial, induced 
 their guest to speak of his work at the School of Art, and grew so 
 interested in it that the conversation went on for a couple of hours. 
 Thistlewood had pronounced and enthusiastic ideas on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " My difficulty is," he exclaimed, " that I can't get hold of the 
 children young enough. People send their boys and girls to be 
 taught drawing as an ' accomplishment ' — the feeble old notion. 
 I want to teach it as a most important part of elementary educa- 
 tion — in fact, to take youngsters straight on from the kindergarten 
 stage." 
 
 " Did I tell you," put in Alma, " that our little boy goes to Mrs. 
 Abbott's ? " — and her eyes were on both men at once. 
 
 " I should say you couldn't have done better than send him 
 there," replied Thistlewood, shuffling his feet and fidgeting with 
 his hands. " Mrs. Abbott is an admirable teacher. She quite 
 agrees with me — I should say that I quite agree with her. But I 
 am forgetting, Mrs. Rolfe, that you know her better than I do." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 355 
 
 Hughie was allowed to come into the room for a little while, 
 and to give an account of what he learnt at school. When at 
 length Thistlewood took his leave, it was with a promise that he 
 would come again and dine a few days hence. His visit at Mrs. 
 Langland's would extend over another fortnight. Before the day 
 of his departure northwards, Alma met him several times, and 
 succeeded in establishing almost an intimate friendship with him. 
 He came to bid her good-bye on a black and bitter January after- 
 noon, when it happened that Harvey was away. As soon as he 
 entered, she saw upon his face a look of ill augury, a heavy-eyed 
 dejection very unlike the twinkling hopefulness with which he had 
 hitherto regarded her. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " she asked, holding his hand for a mo- 
 ment. " Don't you like going back to work ? " 
 
 " I enjoy my work, Mrs. Rolfe, as you know." 
 
 " But you are not hke yourself." 
 
 " My Jriends here have made the time very pleasant. Naturally, 
 I don't like leaving them." 
 
 He was a little abrupt, and decidedly showed the less genial 
 phase of his disposition. 
 
 "Have some tea," said Alma, "and warm yourself at the fire. 
 You will thaw presently, Mr. Thistlewood. I suppose, like other 
 unregenerate men, you live in rooms ? Has that kind of life an 
 irresistible charm for you ? " 
 
 He looked at her with a frown which, to say the least, was dis- 
 couraging ; it changed, however, to a more amiable expression as 
 she handed him his tea. 
 
 " What do you imagine my income is, Mrs. Rolfe ? " came 
 growlingly from him. 
 
 " I have no idea. You mean, I'm afraid " — Alma's voice fell 
 upon its gentlest note — " that it doesn't allow you to think ol — of 
 any change ? " 
 
 " It ought not to allow me," replied the other. " I have about 
 two hundred pounds a year, and can't hope much more for a long 
 time." 
 
 " And that," exclaimed Alma, " seems to you insufificient ? I 
 should have thought in a little town— so far away—. Oh ! you 
 want to surround yourself with luxuries " 
 
 " I don't !— I beg your pardon, Mrs. Rolfe, I meant to say that 
 
356 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 you surely know me better." His hand trembled and spilt the tea, 
 which he had not yet touched. " But how can you suppose that — 
 that any one ? " 
 
 He turned his face to the fire, the light of which made his eyes 
 glare fiercely. Forthwith, Alma launched upon a spirited re- 
 monstrance. Never, even in the days just before her marriage, 
 had she been so fervid and eloquent on behalf of the ' simple life.' 
 Two hundred pounds ! Why, it was wealth for rational people ! 
 She inveighed against display and extravagance. 
 
 " You are looking round the room. — Oh, don't apologise ; it 
 was quite natural. I confess, and I'm ashamed of myself. But 
 ask Mrs. Abbott to tell you about our little house in Wales ; she 
 came once to see us there. We lived — oh so simply and cheaply ; 
 and it was our happiest time. If only we could go back to it ! 
 But the world has been too much for us. People call it comfort ; 
 it means, I assure you, ceaseless trouble and worry. Who knows .' 
 some day we may come to our senses, and shake off the burden." 
 
 Thistlewood smiled. 
 
 " If we all could have cottages among the mountains," he said. 
 " But a little provincial town •" 
 
 " Set an example ! Who would have a better right to defy 
 foolish prejudice.' A teacher of the beautiful — you might do in- 
 finite good by showing how beautifully one can live without obey- 
 ing mere fashion in a single point." 
 
 " I heartily agree with you,'' replied Thistlewood, setting down 
 his empty cup. " You express my own thoughts much better than 
 I could myself. And your talk has done me good, Mrs. Rolfe. 
 Thank you for treating me with such friendly kindness." 
 
 Therewith he rose and said good-bye to her, with a hope that 
 they might meet again. Alma was vexed that he would not stay 
 longer and take her more completely into his confidence ; but she 
 echoed the hope, and smiled upon him with much sweetness. 
 
 His behaviour could have only one interpretation : he had pro- 
 posed to Mary Abbott, and she had refused him. The longer 
 Alma thought, the more certain she was — and the more irritated. 
 It would be very difficult to continue her civility to Mrs. Abbott 
 after this. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 357 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 In these days Rolfe had abandoned even the pretence of study. 
 He could not feel at home among his books ; they were ranked 
 about him on the old shelves, but looked as uncomfortable as he 
 himself ; it seemed a temporary arrangement ; he might as vi^ell 
 have been in lodgings. At Pinner, after a twelvemonth, he was 
 beginning to overcome the sense of strangeness ; but a foreboding 
 that he could not long remain there had always disturbed him. 
 Here, though every probability pointed to a residence of at least 
 two or three years, he scarcely made an effort to familiarise him- 
 self with the new surroundings ; his house was a shelter, a camp ; 
 granted a water-tight roof, and drains not immediately poisonous, 
 what need to take thought for artificial comforts ? Thousands of 
 men, who sleep on the circumference of London, and go each day 
 to business, are practically strangers to the district nominally their 
 home ; ever ready to strike tent, as convenience bids, they can 
 feel no interest in a vicinage which merely happens to house them 
 for the time being, and as often as not they remain ignorant of 
 the names of streets or roads through which they pass in going to 
 the railway station. Harvey was now very much in this case. 
 That he might not utterly waste his time, he had undertaken regu- 
 lar duties under Cecil Morphew's direction, and spent some hours 
 daily in Westminster Bridge Road. Thence he went to his club, 
 to see the papers ; and in returning to Gunnersbury he felt hardly 
 more sense of vital connection with this suburb than with the 
 murky and roaring street in which he sat at business. By force of 
 habit he continued to read, but only books from the circulating 
 library, thrown upon his table pell-mell — novels, popular science, 
 travels, biographies ; each as it came to hand. The intellectual 
 disease of the time took hold upon him : he lost the power of 
 mental concentration, yielded to the indolent pleasure of desultory 
 page-skimming. There remained in him but one sign of grace : 
 the qualms that followed on every evening's debauch of mind, the 
 headachey impression that he was going through a morbid ex- 
 perience which somehow would work its own cure. 
 
 Alma seemed quite unaware of any change in him. To his 
 
358 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 physical comfort she gave all due attention, anxious lest he should 
 catch cold in this hideous weather, and doing her best to rule the 
 house as he desired ; but his intellectual life was no concern to 
 her. Herein, of course, Harvey did but share the common lot of 
 men married ; be recognised the fact, and was too wise to com- 
 plain of it, even in his own mind. Yet it puzzled him a little, now 
 and then, that a woman so intelligent as Alma should in this re- 
 spect be simply on a level with the brainless multitude of her sex. 
 One evening, when they were together in his room, he took down 
 a volume, and blew the dust off it, saying as he did so— 
 
 " They're not often disturbed nowadays, these solid old fellows." 
 " But I suppose you like to have them about you .' " Alma re- 
 plied carelessly, as she glanced at the shelves. 
 
 " Why, yes, they're good furniture ; help to warm the room." 
 " No doubt they do," Alma replied. " It's always more com- 
 fortable here than in the drawing-room." 
 
 Daily he asked himself whether she was reconciled to the loss of 
 her ambitions, and he could not feel any certainty. In the present 
 state of her health it might be natural for her to acquiesce in hum- 
 drum life ; but when the next few months were over, and she found 
 herself once more able to move about as she pleased, would her 
 mind remain the same ? Happy she was not, and probably noth- 
 ing in his power to do could make her so. (Marriage rarely means 
 happiness, either for man or woman ; if it be not too grievous to 
 be borne, one must thank the fates and take courage.) But Har- 
 vey had a troublesome conscience. In acting with masculine 
 decision, with the old-fashioned authority of husbands, he had 
 made himself doubly responsible for any misery that might come 
 to Alma through the conditions of her life. It might be that, on 
 the higher plane of reasoning, he was by no means justified ; there 
 might have been found a middle way, which, whilst guarding Alma 
 from obvious dangers, still left her free to enjoy and to aspire. 
 What he had done was very much like the clipping of wings. 
 Practically it might be needful, and of safe result ; but there is a 
 world beyond the barnyard, for all that ; and how should he know, 
 with full assurance, whether Alma had not suffered a grave 
 wrong? He durst not reopen the discussion with her. He had 
 taken his stand, and must hold it, or lose all self-respect. 
 
 Marriage is like life itself, easiest to those who think least about 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 359, 
 
 it. Rolfe knew that well enough, and would gladly have acted 
 upon the knowledge ; he came nearest to doing so at the times 
 when Hughie was his companion. Relieved by the nursemaid 
 from duties she had only borne by the exertion of something like 
 heroism. Alma once more drew a broad' line of demarcation be- 
 tween nursery and drawing-room ; it was seldom she felt in a 
 mood for playing with the child, and she had no taste for "going 
 walks." But Harvey could not see too much of the little boy, in- 
 doors or out, and it rejoiced him to know that his love was re- 
 turned in full measure ; for Hughie would at any time abandon 
 other amusements to be with his father. In these winter months, 
 when by rare chance there came a fine Saturday or Sunday, they 
 went off together to Kew or Richmond, and found endless matter 
 for talk, delightful to both of them. Hughie, now four years old, 
 was well grown, and could walk two or three miles without weari- 
 ness. He had no colour in his cheeks, and showed the nervous 
 tendencies which were to be expected in a child of such parentage, 
 but on the whole his health gave no cause for uneasiness. If any- 
 thing chanced to ail him, Harvey sui^ered an excessive disquiet ; 
 for the young life seemed to him so delicate a thing that any 
 touch of pain might wither it away. Because of the unutterable 
 anguish in the thought, he had often forced himself to front the 
 possibility of Hughie's death, and had even brought himself to feel 
 that in truth it would be no reason for sorrow ; how much better 
 to fall asleep in playtime, and wake no more, than to outlive the 
 happiness and innocence which pass forever with childhood. And 
 when the fear of life lay heaviest upon him, he found solace in re- 
 membering that after no great lapse of time he and those he loved 
 would have vanished from the earth, would be as though they had 
 not been at all ; every pang and woe awaiting them suffered and 
 forgotten ; the best and the worst gone by forever ; the brief flicker 
 of troubled light quenched in eternal oblivion. It was Harvey 
 Rolfe's best substitute for the faith and hope of the old world. 
 
 He^iked to feel the soft little hand clasping his own fingers, so 
 big and coarse in comparison, and happily so strong. For in the 
 child's weakness he felt an infinite pathos ; a being so entirely 
 helpless, so utterly dependent upon others' love, standing there 
 amid a world of cruelties, smiling and trustful. All his heart went 
 forth in the desire to protect and cherish. Nothing else seemed 
 
36o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 of moment beside this one duty, which was also the purest joy. 
 The word " father," however sweet to his ear, had at times given 
 him a thrill of awe ; spoken by childish lips, did it mean less than 
 " God " ? He was the giver of life, and for that dread gift must 
 hold himself responsible. A man in his agony may call upon 
 some unseen power, but the heavens are mute ; can a father turn 
 away in heedlessness if the eyes of his child reproach him ? All 
 pleasures, aims, hopes that concerned himself alone, shrank to the 
 idlest trifling when he realised the immense debt due from him 
 to his son ; no possible sacrifice could discharge it. He marvelled 
 how people could insist upon the duty of children to parents. But 
 did not the habit of thought ally itself naturally enough with that 
 strange religion, which, under direst penalties, exacts from groan- 
 ing and travaihng humanity a tribute of fear and love to the 
 imagined Author of its being .'' 
 
 With delight he followed every step in the growth of under- 
 standing ; and yet it was not all pleasure to watch the mind out- 
 growing in simplicity. Intelligence that has learnt the meaning of 
 a doubt compares but sadly with the charm of untouched ingenu- 
 ousness — that exquisite moment (a moment, and no more) when 
 simplest thought and simplest word seek each other unconsciously, 
 and blend in sweetest music. At four years old Hughie had for- 
 gotten his primitive language. The father regretted many a pretty 
 turn of tentative speech, which he was wont to hear with love's 
 merriment. If a toy were lost, a little voice might be heard saying. 
 " Where has that gone now io? " And when it was found again 
 — " There is il / " After a tumble one day, Hughie was cautious 
 in running. " I shall fall down and break myself." Then came 
 distinction between days of the week. " On Sunday I do " so and 
 so ; " on Monday days I do " something else. He said, " Do you 
 bemember } " and what a pity it seemed when at last the dull 
 grown-up word was substituted. Never again, when rain was 
 falling, would Hughie turn and plead, " Father, tell the sun to 
 come out ! " Nor, when he saw the crescent moon in daytime, 
 would he ever grow troubled and exclaim, " Some one has broken 
 it!" 
 
 It was the rule now that before his bedtime, seven o'clock, 
 Hughie spent an hour in the library, alone with his father. A 
 golden hour, sacred to memories of the world's own childhood 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 361 
 
 He brought with him the book that was his evening's choice — 
 Grimm, or Andersen, or ^sop. Already he Icnew by heart a 
 score of little poems, or passages of, verse, which Rolfe, disregard- 
 ing the inept volumes known as children's anthologies, chose with 
 utmost care from his favourite singers, and repeated till they were 
 learnt. Stories from the Odyssey had come in of late; but 
 Polyphemus was a doubtful experiment— Hughie dreamt of him. 
 Great caution, too, was needful in the matter of pathos. On 
 hearing for the first time Andersen's tale of the Little Tin Soldier, 
 Hughie burst into tears, and could scarce be comforted. Grimm 
 was safer ; it seemed doubtful whether Andersen was really a 
 child's book at all, every page touched with the tears of things, 
 every line melodious with sadness. 
 
 And all this fostering of the imagination — was it right ? was it 
 wise? Harvey worried himself with doubts insoluble. He had 
 merely obeyed his own instincts. But perhaps he would be doing 
 far better if he never allowed the child to hear a fairy-tale or a 
 line of poetry. Why not amuse his mind with facts, train him to 
 the habit of scientific thought ? For all he knew, he might be 
 giving the child a bias which would result in a life's unhappiness ; 
 by teaching him to see only the hard actual face of things, would 
 he not fit him far more surely for citizenship of the world ? 
 
 He would have- liked to talk about the child with Mary Abbott, 
 but there never came an opportunity. Though it shamed and 
 angered him to be under such constraint, he felt obliged to avoid 
 any private meeting with her. Alma, he well understood, still 
 nursed the preposterous jealousy which had been in her mind so 
 long ; and in the present state of things, dubious, transitional, it 
 behoved him to give no needless occasion of disquiet. As the 
 months went on, he saw her spirits fail ; with the utmost difficulty 
 she was persuaded to leave the house, and for hours at a time she 
 sat as if in melancholy brooding, unwilling to talk or to read. 
 Harvey tried reading to her, but in the daytime she could not 
 keep her thoughts from wandering, and after dinner it merely 
 sent her to sleep. Yet she declared that there was nothing to 
 trouble about ; she would be herself again before long. 
 
 But one day the doctor who was attending her had a few words 
 in private with Rolfe, and told him that he had made an unplea- 
 sant discovery — Mrs. Rolfe was in the habit of taking a narcotic. 
 
362 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 At first, when the doctor asked if this was the case, she had 
 denied it, but in the end he had elicited a confession, and a pro- 
 mise that the dangerous habit should be relinquished. 
 
 " I was on no account to mention this to you, and you mustn't 
 let it be seen that I have done so. If it goes on, and I'm rather 
 afraid it will for a short time, I shall tell her that you must be 
 informed of it." 
 
 Harvey, to whom such a suspicion had never occurred, waited 
 anxiously for the doctor's further reports. As was anticipated, 
 Alma's promise held good only for a day or two, and when again 
 she confessed, her husband was called into counsel. The trio 
 went through a grave and disagreeable scene. On the doctor's 
 departure. Alma sat for a long time stubbornly and dolorously 
 mute ; then came tears and passionate penitence. 
 
 " You mustn't think I'm a slave to it," she said. " It isn't so 
 at all. I can break myself of it at once, and I will." 
 
 " Then why did you go on after the doctor's first warning ? " 
 
 " Out of perversity, nothing else. I suffer much from bad 
 nights, but it wasn't that ; I could bear it. I said to myself that I 
 should do as I liked." She gave a tearful laugh. " That's the 
 whole truth. I felt just like a child when it's determined to be 
 naughty." 
 
 " But this is far too serious a matter " 
 
 " I know, I know. There shall be an end of it. I had my own 
 way, and I'm satisfied. Now I shall be reasonable." 
 
 Judging from results, this seemed to be a true explanation. 
 From that day the doctor saw no reason for doubt. But Harvey 
 had a most uncomfortable sense of strangeness in his wife's be- 
 haviour ; it seemed to him that the longer he lived with Alma, the 
 less able he was to read her mind or comprehend her motives. It 
 did not reasure him to reflect that a majority of husbands are 
 probably in the same case. 
 
 Meanwhile trouble was once more brewing in the back regions 
 of the house. The cook made an excuse for "giving notice." 
 Rolfe, in his fury, talked about abandoning the house and going 
 with wife and child to some village in the heart of France ; yet 
 this was hardly practicable. Again were advertisements sent 
 forth ; again came the ordeal of correspondence — this time under- 
 taken by Harvey himself, for Alma was unequal to it. The cook 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 363 
 
 whom they at length engaged declared with fervour that the one 
 thing she panted for was downright hard work ; she couldn't abide 
 easy places, and in fact had left her last because too little was ex- 
 pected of her. 
 
 " She will stay for two months," said Harvey, " and then it will 
 be time for the others to think of moving. Oh, we shall get used 
 to it." 
 
 At the end of March, Alma's second child was born— a girl. 
 Remembering what she had endured at Hughie's birth, Rolfe 
 feared that her trial would be even worse this time ; but it did not 
 prove so. In a few days Alma was well on the way to recovery. 
 But the child, a lamentable little mortal with a voice scarce louder 
 than a kitten's, held its life on the frailest tenure ; there was doubt 
 at first whether it could draw breath at all, and the nurse never 
 expected it to live till the second day. At the end of a week, 
 however, it still survived ; and Alma turned to the poor weakling 
 with a loving tenderness such as she had never shown for her 
 first-born. To Harvey's surprise she gladly took it to her breast, 
 but for some reason this had presently to be forbidden, and the 
 mother shed many tears. After a fortnight things looked more 
 hopeful Nurse and doctor informed Harvey that for the present 
 he need have no uneasiness. 
 
 It was a Saturday morning, and so cheerful overhead that Rolfe 
 used his liberty to have a long stretch towards the fields. Hughie, 
 who had no school to-day, would gladly have gone with him, but 
 after such long restraint Harvey felt the need of four miles an 
 hour, and stole away. He made for Twickenham and Hampton 
 Court, then by a long circuit came round into Richmond Park. 
 The Star and Garter gave him a late luncheon,' after which he lit 
 his cigar and went idly along the terrace. There, whom should he 
 meet but Mary Abbott. 
 
 She was seated, gazing at the view. Not till he came quite 
 near did Harvey recognise her, and until he stopped she did not 
 glance in his direction. Thus he was able to observe her for a 
 moment, and noticed that she looked anything but well ; one would 
 have thought her overworked, or oppressed by some trouble. She 
 did not see what her eyes were fixed upon, and her features had a 
 dreaming tenderness of expression which made them more inter- 
 esting, more nearly beautiful, than when they were controlled by 
 
364 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 her striving will. When Harvey paused beside her she gave him 
 a startled smile, but was at once herself again. 
 
 " Do you care for that ? " he asked, indicating the landscape. 
 
 " I can't be enthusiastic about it." 
 
 " Nor I. A bit of ploughed field in the midlands gives me more 
 pleasure." 
 
 " It was beautiful once." 
 
 "Yes; before London breathed upon it. — Do you remember 
 the view from Carn Bodvean ? " 
 
 " Oh, indeed I do ! The larches are coming out now." 
 
 " And the gorse shines, and the sea is blue, and the mountains 
 rise one behind the other ! — Did you talk about it with Mr. Thistle- 
 wood .' I found that he knew all that country." 
 
 " We spoke of it," replied Mrs. Abbott, taking a step forward. 
 
 " An interesting man, don't you think ? " 
 
 Harvey glanced at her, remembering the odd suggestion he had 
 heard from Alma ; and in truth it seemed that his inquiry caused 
 her some embarrassment. ' 
 
 " Yes, very interesting," answered his companion quietly, as she 
 walked on. 
 
 " You had met him before ? " 
 
 " He always comes to the Langlands' at Christmas." She added 
 in another voice, " I was glad to hear from Hughie yesterday that 
 .ill was well at home.'' 
 
 They sauntered along the path. Harvey flescribed the walk 
 he had had this morning. Mrs. Abbott said that the bright day 
 had tempted her to an unusual distance ; she had come, of 
 course, by train, and must now think of turning back .towards 
 the station. 
 
 " Let me go so far with you,'' said Harvey. " What is your re- 
 port of the boy ? He gives you no trouble, I hope ? " 
 
 She replied in detail, with the conscientiousness which always 
 appeared in her when speaking of her work. It was not the tone 
 of one who delights in teaching; there was no spontaneity, no en- 
 thusiasm ; but every word gave proof of how seriously she regarded 
 the duties she had undertaken. And she was not without pride in 
 her success. The little school had grown, so that it now became 
 a question whether she should decline pupils or engage an assistant 
 teacher. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 365 
 
 " You are resolved to go on with the infantry ? " said Rolfe, 
 smiling. 
 
 " The little ones — yes. I begin to feel some confidence with 
 them , I don't think I'm in danger of going far wrong. But I 
 shouldn't have the least faith in myself, now, with older children. 
 Of course I have Minnie Wager. She'll soon be eleven, you know. 
 I do my best with her." 
 
 " Mrs. Langland says you have done wonders." 
 
 " Minnie will never learn much from books ; I feel pretty sure of 
 that. But" — she 'laughed — "every one has a strong point, if it 
 can be discovered, and I really think I have found Minnie's at last. 
 It was quite by chance. The other day I was teaching my maid to 
 make pastry, and Minnie happened to stand by. Afterwards, she 
 begged me to let her try her hand at it, and I did, and the result 
 was surprising. For the very first time she had found something 
 that she enjoyed doing. She went to it with zeal, and learnt in no 
 time. Since then she has made tarts, and puddings, and cakes " 
 
 Harvey broke into laughter. It was an odd thing that the em- 
 ployment he had suggested for this girl, in his talk at Greystone, 
 should prove to be her genuine vocation. 
 
 " Don't you think it's as well to encourage her ? " said Mrs. 
 Abbott. 
 
 " By all manner of means ! I think it's a magnificent discovery. 
 I should give her the utmost encouragement. Let her learn cook- 
 ery in all its branches, steadily and seriously." 
 
 " It may solve the problem of her future. She might get em- 
 ployment in one of the schools of cookery.'' 
 
 " Never again be uneasy about her," cried Rolfe, delightedly. 
 " She is provided for. She will grow old with honour, love, obedi- 
 ence, troops of friends ! — A culinary genuis ! Why, it's the one 
 thing the world is groaning and clamouring for. Let her burn her 
 school-books. Sacrifice everything to her Art.— You have rejoiced 
 me with this news." 
 
 Slenderly endowed on the side of humour, Mary Abbott could 
 not feel sure whether he was really pleased or not ; he had to repeat 
 to her, with all gravity, that he no longer felt anxious on the girl's 
 account. 
 
 " For my own part," said Mary, " I would rather see her a good 
 cook in a lady's kitchen, if it came to that, than leading a foolish 
 life at some so-called genteel occupation.'' 
 
366 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " So would any one who has common sense. — And her brother ; 
 I don't think we can go wrong about him. The reports from 
 school are satisfactory ; they show that he loaths everything but 
 games and fighting. At fifteen they'll take him on a training ship. 
 I wonder whether their father's alive or dead ? " 
 
 " It is to be hoped they'll never see him again." 
 
 Harvey was smiling — at a thought which he did not communicate. 
 
 " You say you wouldn't trust yourself to teach older children. 
 You mean, of course, that you feel so much the difficulty of the 
 whole thing — of all systems of education." 
 
 " Yes. And I dare say it's nothing but foolish presumption 
 when I fancy I can teach babies." 
 
 " You have at all events a method," said Harvey, "and it seems 
 to be a very good one. For the teaching of children after they can 
 read and write, there seems to be no method at all. The old 
 classical education was fairly consistent, but it exists no longer. 
 Nothing has taken its place. Muddle, experiment, and waste of 
 lives — too awful to think about. We're savages yet in the matter 
 of education. Somebody said to me once : ' Well, but look at the 
 results ; they're not so bad.' Great heavens ! not so bad — when 
 the supreme concern of mankind is to perfect their instruments of 
 slaughter ! Not so bad — when the gaol" and the gallows are taken 
 as a matter of course ! Not so bad — when huge filthy cities are 
 packed with multitudes who have no escape from toil and hunger 
 but in a wretched death ! Not so bad — when all but every man's 
 life is one long blunder, the result of ignorance and unruled 
 passions ! " 
 
 Mrs. Abbott showed a warm assent. 
 
 " People don't think or care anything about education. Seri- 
 ously, I suppose it has less place in the thoughts of most men and 
 women than any other business of life." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," said Rolfe, " And one is thought a pedant 
 and a bore if one ever speaks of it. It's as much against good 
 manners as to begin talking about religion. But a pedant must 
 relieve his mind sometimes. I'm so glad I met you to-day ; I 
 wanted to hear what you thought about the boy." 
 
 For the rest of the way, they talked of lighter things ; or rather, 
 Rolfe talked and his companion listened. Nothing more difficult 
 than easy chat between a well-to-do person of abundant leisure 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 367 
 
 and one whose days are absorbed in the earning of a bare liveH- 
 hood. Mary Abbott had very little matter for conversation beyond 
 the circle of her pursuits ; there was an extraordinary change in 
 her since the days of her married life, when she had prided herself 
 on talking well, or even brilliantly. Harvey could not help a feeling 
 of compassion as she walked at his side. For all his admiration 
 of her self-conquest, and of the tasks to which she had devoted 
 herself, he would have liked to free her from the daily mill. She 
 was young yet, and should taste of joy before the years began to 
 darken about her. But these are the thoughts that must not be 
 uttered. To show pity is to insult. A merry nod to the friend 
 who staggers on beneath his burden ; and, even at his last gasp, 
 the friend shall try to nod merrily back again. 
 
 He took leave of her at the station, saying that he meant to 
 walk by the river homeward. A foolish scruple, which would 
 never have occurred to him but for Alma's jealousy. 
 
 When he reached his house at about four o'clock, he felt very 
 tired ; it was a long time since he had walked so far. Using his 
 latch-key to enter, he crossed the hall to the study without seeing 
 any one or hearing a sound. There was a letter on his table. As 
 he opened it, and began to read, the door — which he had left ajar 
 — was pushed softly open ; there entered Hughie, unusually silent, 
 and with a strange look in his bright eyes. 
 
 " Father — Louie says that baby is dead." 
 
 Harvey's hand fell. He stared, stricken mute. 
 
 " Father — I don't want baby to be dead ! Don't let baby be 
 dead ! " 
 
 The child's voice shook, and tears came into his eyes. Without 
 a word, Rolfe hastened from the room and up the stairs. As he 
 reached the landing, a wail of grief sounded from somewhere 
 near ; could that be Alma's voice ? In a moment he had knocked 
 at her door. He durst not turn the handle ; the beating of his 
 heart shook him in every limb. The door opened, and the nurse 
 showed her face. A hurried whisper ; the baby had died two 
 hours ago, in convulsions. 
 
 Alma's voice sounded again. 
 
 " Who is that ?— Harvey — oh, come, come to me ! My little 
 baby is dead !" 
 
 He sat alone with her for an hour. He scarcely knew her for 
 
368 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 his wife, so unlike herself had she become under the stress of 
 passionate woe ; her face drawn in anguish, yet illumined as he 
 had never §een it ; her voice movingf on a ra'nge of notes which it 
 had never sounded. The little body lay pressed against her 
 bosom ; she would not let it be taken from her. Consolation was 
 idle. Harvey tried to speak the thought which was his first and 
 last as he looked atthe still, waxen face ; the thought of thankful- 
 ness, that this poor feeble little being was saved from life ; but he 
 feared to seem unfeeling. Alma could not yet be comforted. The 
 sight of the last pitiful struggles had pierced her to the heart ; she 
 told of it over and over again, in words and tones profoundly 
 touching. 
 
 The doctor had been here, and would return in the evening. It 
 was Alma now who had to be cared for ; her state might easily 
 become dangerous. 
 
 When Harvey went downstairs again, he met Hughie and his 
 nurse in the hall. The little boy ran to him. 
 
 " Mayn't I come to you, father.' Louie says I mustn't come." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; come, dear." 
 
 In the library he sat down, and took Hughie upon his knee, and 
 pressed the soft little cheek against his own. Without mention 
 of baby, the child asked at once if his father would not read to 
 him as usual. 
 
 "I don't think I can to-night, Hughie." 
 
 " Why not, father ? Because baby is dead ? " 
 
 " Yes. And mother is very poorly. I must go upstairs again 
 soon." 
 
 " Is mother going to be dead.' " asked the child, with curiosity 
 rather than fear. 
 
 "No! No!" 
 
 " But — but if mother went there, she could fetch baby back 
 again.'' 
 
 " Went where ? " 
 
 Hughie made a vague upward gesture. 
 
 " Louie says baby is gone up into the sky." 
 
 Perhaps it is was best so. What else can one say to a little 
 child of four-years old.' Harvey Rolfe had no choice but to repeat 
 what seemed good to Louie the nursemaid. But he could refrain 
 from saying more. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 369 
 
 Alma was in a fever by night-time. There followed days and 
 days of misery ; any one hour of which, as Rolfe told himself, 
 outbalanced all the good and joy that can at best be hoped for .in 
 three-Score years and ten., But Alma clung to life. Harvey had 
 thought she would ask for her little son, and .expend upon him the 
 love called forth by her dead baby ; she seemed, however, to care 
 even less for Hughie than before. And, after all, the bitter experi- 
 ence had made little change in her. 
 
 CHAPTER Vn 
 
 Since the removal from Pinner, Rolfe had forgotten his anxi- 
 eties with regard to money. Expenses were reduced ; not very 
 greatly, but to a point which made all the difference between just 
 exceeding his income and living just within it. He had not tried 
 to economise, and would scarcely have known how to begin ; it was 
 the change in Alma's mode of hfe that brought about this fortu- 
 nate result. With infinite satisfaction he dismissed from his mind 
 the most hateful of all worries. 
 
 It looked, too, as if the business in Westminster Bridge Road 
 might eventually give a substantial return for the money he had 
 invested in it. Through the winter, naturally, little trade was 
 done ; but with springtime things began to look brisk and hope- 
 ful. Harvey had applied himself seriously to learning the details 
 of the business ; he was no longer a mere looker-on, but could 
 hold practical council with his partner, make useful suggestions, 
 and help in carrying them out. 
 
 In the sixth month after her father'a decease, Rolfe enjoyed the 
 privilege of becoming acquainted with Miss Winter. Morphew 
 took him one afternoon to the house at Earl's Court, where the 
 widow and her daughter were still living, the prospect of Henri- 
 etta's marriage having made it not worth while for them to change 
 their abode in the interim. With much curiosity, with not a little 
 mistrust, Harvey entered the presence of these ladies, whose 
 names and circumstances had been so familiar to him for years. 
 Henrietta proved to be very unlike the image he had formed of 
 her. Anticipating weakness, conventionality, and some affectation. 
 
370 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 he was surprised to meet a lady of simple, grave manners ; ner- 
 vous at first, but soon perfectly self-possessed ; by no means talka- 
 tive, but manifesting in every word a well-informed mind and a 
 habit of reflection. It astonished him that such a man as Cecil 
 Morphew should have discovered his ideal in Henrietta Winter ; 
 it perplexed him yet more that Cecil's attachment should have been 
 reciprocated. 
 
 Mrs. Winter was a very ordinary person ; rather pretentious, 
 rather loo fluent of speech, inclined to fretfulness, and probably 
 of trying temper. Having for many years lived much beyond his 
 means (in the manner so often described by Morphew), Mr. Win- 
 ter had left his family as good as unprovided for. There was 
 money to be divided between mother and daughter, but so small 
 a sum that it could not be regarded as a source of income. To 
 the widow was bequeathed furniture ; to Henrietta, a library of 
 two thousand volumes ; finally, the testator directed that the sum 
 of five hundred pounds should be spent on a window of stained 
 glass (concerning which full particulars were given), to be set up, 
 in memory of himself, in the church he had been wont to honour 
 with his pious attendance. This item of her husband's will had so 
 embittered Mrs. Winter, that she hardly ever spoke of him ; if 
 obliged to do so, it was with cold severity that she uttered his 
 name. Immediately, she withdrew all opposition to Henrietta's 
 marriage with the man she had considered so objectionable ; she 
 would not have been sorry had her daughter chosen to be married 
 with the least possible delay. As for the future, of course she 
 must live in her daughter's house ; together, they must make what 
 they could of their small capital, and hope that Cecil's business 
 would prosper. 
 
 Harvey had been acquainted with these facts since Mr. Winter's 
 death. Bearing them in mind as he talked with Henrietta, and 
 e.xerting his powers of observation to the utmost, he still found 
 himself as far as ever from a definite opinion as to the wisdom of 
 the coming marriage. That Mrs. Winter would be a great 
 obstacle to happiness admitted of no doubt ; but Henrietta her- 
 self might or might not prove equal to the change of circumstances. 
 Evidently one of her characteristics was an extreme conscientious- 
 ness ; it explained, perhaps, her lotig inability to decide between 
 the claims of parents and lover. Her tastes in literature threw 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 371 
 
 some light upon the troubles which had beset her ; she was a 
 student of George Eliot, and spoke of the ethical problems with 
 which that author is mainly concerned, in a way suggestive of self- 
 revelation. Conversing for the first time with Morphew's friend, 
 and finding him sufficiently intelligent, she might desire to offer 
 some indirect explanation of the course she had followed. Harvey 
 could not question her sincerity, but she seemed to him a trifle 
 morbid. It might be natural reaction, in a temper such as hers, 
 against the monstrous egotism by which her life had been sub- 
 dued and slfadowed. She inclined to mystical views ; mentioned 
 Christina Rossetti as one of her favourites ; cared little or nothing 
 for the louder interests of the time. Impossible to detect the 
 colour of her thoughts with regard to Cecil ; she spoke of him 
 gravely and gently, but without the least perceptible emotion. 
 Harvey noticed her when Morphew was saying good-bye ; her 
 smile was sweet, and perhaps tender, but even then she seemed to 
 be debating with hetself some point of conscience. Perhaps Cecil 
 had pressed her hand rather too fervently ? 
 
 The friends walked away in silence along the dim-lighted street, 
 between monotonous rows of high sombre houses, each with its 
 pillared portico which looked like the entrance to a tomb. Glan- 
 cing about him with a sense of depression, Harvey wondered that 
 any mortal could fix his pride on the fact of residence in such a 
 hard, cold, ugly wilderness. 
 
 " Has she altered much since you first knew her ? " he asked at 
 length. 
 
 " A good deal," answered the other. " Yes, a good deal. She 
 used to laugh sometimes ; now she never does. She was always 
 quiet — always looked 'at things seriously— but it was different. 
 You think her gloomy ? " 
 
 " No, no ; not gloomy. It's all natural enough. Her life wants 
 a little sunlight, that's all." 
 
 For the rest, he could speak with sincere admiration, and Cecil 
 heard him delightedly. 
 
 The choice of a dwelling was a most difficult matter. As it must 
 be quite a small house, the remoter suburbs could alone supply what 
 was wanted ; Morphew spent every Saturday and Sunday in 
 wearisome exploration. Mrs. Winter, though in theory she ac- 
 cepted the necessity of cheapness, shrank from every practical 
 
372 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 suggestion, declaring it impossible to live in such places as Cecil 
 recjuested her to look at.' She had an ideal of the " nice little 
 house," and was as likely* to discover it in London's suburbs as to 
 become possessed once more of the considerable fortune which 
 she and her husband had squandered in mean extravagance. Mor- 
 phew had already come to the conclusion, and Henrietta agreed with 
 him, that their future home must be chosen without regard to 
 Mrs. Winter's impracticable ideas. And the sooner the better, in 
 her own interests ; for it was plain that so long as she continued 
 in the old house she would thoughtlessly waste her means. The 
 end of the twelvemonth, at latest, must see them all in their new 
 home. 
 
 But meanwhile fate was preparing a new trial for Henrietta's 
 much-disciplined conscience. 
 
 On a Saturday afternoon, when the crisis of Alma's illness was 
 over, Harvey received a telegram summoning him to Westminster 
 Bridge Road. " Come if you possibly can. Or I must come to 
 you." Only yesterday he had been with Morphew for a couple of 
 hours, and all seemed well ; Cecil thought he had found the house 
 that would suit him ; he was in jubilant spirits, laughing, singing, 
 more boylike than ever. Suspecting new obstructiveness on the 
 part of Mrs. Winter, Harvey went to town in an impatient mood. 
 He found the shop closed, as usual at this hour on Saturday, and 
 rang the house-door bell. Morphew himself replied, with a coun- 
 tenance which made known forthwith that something extraordinary 
 had happened ; eyes red and swollen, cheeks puffy, colourless, 
 smeared. 
 
 ■' Well ? " 
 
 Cecil clutched at his hand, and drew him in. They went up- 
 stairs to the office, where all was quiet. 
 
 " Rolfe, if I hadn't had you to send for, I should have been 
 dead by now. There's poison enough in this place. It has 
 tempted me fearfully.'' 
 
 " What is it ? " asked the other, in a not very sympathetic voice. 
 His own troubles of the past month made mere love-miseries 
 seem artificial. 
 
 " I shall have to tell you what I wanted to tell you long ago. 
 If I had, most likely this would never have happened. — It's all 
 over with me, Rolfe. I wish to God you had let me die in that 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 373 
 
 hotel at Brussels. — She has been told something about me, and 
 there's an end of everything. She sent for me this morning. I 
 never thought she could be so pitiless. — The kind of thing that a 
 man thinks nothing of. And herself the cause of it, if only I had 
 dared to tell her so ! " 
 
 " The old story, I suppose, " said Harvey. " Some other 
 woman ? " 
 
 " I was very near telling you, that day you came to my beastly 
 garret in Chelsea ; do you remember ? It was the worst time 
 with me then — except when you found me in Brussels. I'd been 
 gambling again ; you knew that. I wanted money for something I 
 felt ashamed to speak of. — You know the awful misery I used to 
 suffer about Henrietta. I was often enough nearly mad with — 
 what is one to call it .' ' Why isn't there a decent name for the 
 agony men go through at that age } I simply couldn't live alone any 
 longer — I couldn't ; and only a fool and a hypocrite would pretend 
 to blame me. A man, that is ; women seem to be made different. — 
 Oh, there's nothing to tell. The same thing happens a hundred 
 times every day in London. A girl wandering about in the Park — 
 quarrel at home — all the rest of it. A good many lies on her side ; 
 a good deal of selfishness on mine. I happened to have money 
 just then. And just when I had' no money — about the time you 
 met me — a child was born. She said it was mine ; anyway, I had 
 to be responsible. Of course I had long ago repented of behaving 
 so badly to Henrietta. But no woman can understand, and it's 
 impossible to explain to them. You're a beast and a villain, and 
 there's an end of it." 
 
 " And how has this become known to Miss Winter ? " Harvey 
 inquired, seeing that Morphew lost himself in gloom. 
 
 " You might almost guess it ; these things always happen in the 
 same way. You've heard me speak of a fellow called Driffel — no ? 
 I thought I might have mentioned him. He got to know the girl. 
 He and I were at a music-hall one night, and she met us ; and I 
 neard, soon after, that she was living with him. It didn't last long. 
 She got ill, and wrote to me from Westminster Hospital ; and I 
 was foolish enough to give her money again, off and on, up'toonly 
 a few months ago. She talked about living a respectable life, and 
 so on, and I couldn't refuse to help her. But I found out it was 
 all humbug, and of course I stopped. Then she began to hunt me, 
 
374 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 out of spite. And she heard from some one — Driffel, as likely as 
 not — all about Henrietta ; and yesterday Henrietta had a letter 
 from her. This morning I was sent for, to explain myself." 
 
 " At one time, then, you had lost sight of her altogether .' " 
 
 " She has always had money from me, more or less regularly, 
 except at the time that Driffel kept her. But there has been 
 nothing else between us, since that first year. I kept up pay- 
 ments on account of the child, and she was cheating me in that 
 too. Of course she put out the baby to nurse, and I understood 
 it lived on ; but the truth was it died after a month or two — 
 starved to death, no doubt. I only learnt that, by taking a good 
 deal of trouble, when she was with Driffel." 
 
 " Starved to death at a month or two old," murmured Rolfe. 
 " The best thing for it, no doubt." 
 
 " It's worse than anything / have done," said Morphew, miser- 
 ably. " I think more of it now than I did at the time. A cruel, 
 vile thing ! " 
 
 " And you told Miss Winter everything ? " 
 
 " Everything that can be spoken about. The plain truth of the 
 story. The letter was a lie from beginning to end, of course. It 
 made me out a heartless scoundrel. I had been the ruin of the 
 girl — a helpless innocent ; and now, after all these years, wanted 
 to cut her adrift, not caring what became of her. My defence 
 seemed to Henrietta no defence at all. The fact that there had 
 been such an episode in my life was quite sufficient. Everything 
 must be at an end between us, at once and for ever. She could 
 not live with me, knowing this. No one should learn the cause ; 
 not even her mother ; but I must never see her again. And so I 
 came away, meaning to end my life. It wasn't cowardice that 
 prevented me ; only the thought that she would be mixed up in it, 
 and suffer more than I had made her already." 
 
 Voice and look constrained Harvey to believe this. He spoke 
 more sympathetically. 
 
 " It's better that it happened before than after." 
 
 " I've tried to think that, but I can't. Afterwards, I could have 
 made her believe me and forgive me." 
 
 " That seems to me more than doubtful." 
 
 " But why should it have happened at all ? " cried Cecil, in the 
 tone of despairing bitterness. " Did I deserve it ? Haven't I be- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 375 
 
 haved better, more kindly, than most men would have done ? 
 Isn't it just because I was too good-natured that this has come on 
 me ? " 
 
 " I myself readily take that view," answered Rolfe. " But I can 
 perfectly understand why Miss Winter doesn't." 
 
 " So can I— so can I," groaned Cecil. " It's in her nature. And 
 do you suppose I haven't cursed myself for deceiving her ? The 
 thought has made me miserable, often enough. I never dreamt 
 she would get to know of itj but it weighed upon me all the same. 
 Yet who was the cause of it, really and truly ? I'm glad I could 
 keep myself from saying all I thought. She wouldn't have un- 
 derstood ; I should only have looked more brutal in her eyes. 
 But if she had married me when she might have done ! There 
 was the wrong that led to everything else," 
 
 Harvey nodded and muttered. 
 
 " At one and twenty she might have taken her own way. I 
 wasn't a penniless adventurer. My name- is as good as hers. 
 We could have lived well enough on my income, until ;i found a 
 way of increasing it, as I should have done. Girls don't know 
 what they are doing when they make men wait year after year. 
 No one can tell them. But I begged — I prayed to her — I said all 
 I dared. It was her cursed father and mother ! If I had had 
 three thousand, instead of three hundred, a year, -they would have 
 rushed her into marriage. No ! we must have a big house, like 
 their own, and a troop of thieving servants, or we were eternally 
 disgraced. How I got the money didn't matter, so long as I 
 got it. And she hadn't courage — ^she thought it wrong to defy 
 them. As if the wrong wasn't in giving way to such a base su- 
 perstition ! I believe she has seen that since her father's death. 
 And now " 
 
 He broke down, shaking and choking in an agony of sobs. 
 Harvey could only lay a kind hand upon him ; there was no verbal 
 comfort to offer. Presently Cecil talked on again, and so they sat 
 together as twilight passed into darkness. Rolfe would gladly 
 have taken the poor fellow home with him, out of solitude with its 
 miseries and dangers, but Cecil refused. Eventually they walked 
 westward for a few miles ; then Morphew, with a promise to see 
 his friend next day, turned back into the crowd. 
 
376 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 CHAPTER Vni 
 
 Alma was walking ■ on the sea-road at Penzance, glad to be 
 quite alone, yet at a loss how to spend the time. Rolfe had sailed 
 for Scilly, and would be absent for two or three days ; Mrs. Froth- 
 ingham, with Hughie for companion, was driving to Marazion. 
 Why — Alma asked herself — had she wished to be left alone this 
 morning ? Some thought had glimmered vaguely in her restless 
 mind ; she could not recover it. 
 
 The little shop window, set out with objects carved in serpen- 
 tine, held her for a moment ; but remembering how often she had 
 paused here lately, she felt ashamed, and walked on. Presently 
 there moved towards her a lady in a bath-chair ; a lady who had 
 once been beautiful, but now, though scarcely middle-aged, looked 
 gaunt and haggard from some long illness. The invalid held 
 open a newspaper, and Alma, in passing, saw that it was The 
 World. At once her step quickened, for she had remembered 
 the desire which touched her an hour ago. 
 
 She walked to the railway station, surveyed the papers on the 
 bookstall, and bought three — papers which would tell her what 
 was going on in society. With these in hand she found a quiet 
 spot, sheltered from the August sun, where she could sit and read. 
 She read eagerly, enviously. And before long her eye fell upon a 
 paragraph in which was a name she knew. Lady Isobel Barker, 
 in her lovely retreat at Boscombe, was entertaining a large house- 
 party ; in the list appeared — Mrs. Hugh Carnaby. Unmistakable : 
 Mrs. Hugh Carnaby. Who Lady Isobel might be. Alma had no 
 idea ; nor were any of the other guests known to her, but the 
 names of all seemed to 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 ? 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 377 
 
 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 Al- 
 mond is the daughter of Mr. Haliburton Almond, senior partner 
 in the old and well-known firm of Almond Brothers, the man- 
 ufacturers 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 any one 
 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. Six weeks at Penzance simply wearied 
 her ; she brightened wonderfully on the day of return. Harvey, 
 always anxious, tried to believe that the great sorrow through 
 which she had passed was effecting only a natural change, sub- 
 duing her troublesome mutability of temper, and leading her to 
 find solace in domestic quietude. 
 
 On the third day after her return, she had lunched alone, and 
 
378 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 was sitting in the library. Her dress, more elaborate than usual, 
 and the frequent glances which she cast at the clock, denoted 
 expectation of some arrival. Hearing a knock at the front door, 
 she rose and waited nervously. 
 " Mr. Dymes is in the drawing-room, mum. 
 She joined him. Dymes, with wonted frankness, not to say 
 impudence, inspected her from head to foot, and did not try to 
 conceal surprise. 
 
 " I was awfully glad to get your note. As I told you, I called 
 here about a month ago, and I should have called again. I 
 didn't care to write until I heard from you. You've been ill, I 
 can see. I heard about it. Awfully sorry.'' 
 
 Alma saw that he intended respectful behaviour. The fact of 
 being in her own house was, of course, a protection, but Dymes, 
 she quite understood, had altered in mincj towards her. She 
 treated him distantly, yet without a hint of unfriendliness. 
 
 " I began to wonder whether I had missed a letter of yours. 
 It's some time since you promised to write — on business." 
 
 " The fact is," he replied, " I kept putting it off, hoping to see 
 you, and it's wonderful how time slips by. I can hardly believe 
 that it's more than a year since your recital. How splendidly it 
 came off ! If only you could have followed it up — but we won't 
 talk about that." 
 
 He paused for any remark she might wish to make. Alma, 
 dreamy for a moment, recovered herself, and asked, in a disin- 
 terested tone — 
 
 " We paid all expenses, I suppose ? " 
 " Well — not quite.'' 
 
 " Not quite ? I understood from you that there was no doubt 
 about it." 
 
 " I thought," said Dymes, as he bent forward familiarly, "that 
 my silence would let you know how matters stood. If there had 
 been anything due to you, of course I should have sent a cheque. 
 We did very well indeed, remarkably well, but the advertising 
 expenses were very heavy." He took a paper from his pocket. 
 " Here is the detailed account. I shouldn't have spent so much if 
 I hadn't regarded it as an investment. You had to be boomed, 
 you know — floated, and I flatter myself I did it pretty well. But, 
 of course, as things turned out " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 379 
 
 Alma glanced over the paper. The items astonished her. 
 
 " You mean to say, then, that I am in your debt for a hundred 
 and thirty pounds ? " 
 
 " Debt be hanged ! " cried Dymes magnanimously. " That's 
 all done with, long ago. I only wanted to explain how things 
 were.'' 
 
 Alma reddened. She was trying to remember the state of her 
 banking account, and felt sure that, at this moment, considerably 
 less than a hundred pounds stood to her credit, But she rose 
 promptly. 
 
 " Of course, I shall give you a cheque." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Don't treat me like a regular agent, Mrs. Rolfe. 
 Surely you know me better than that ? I undertook it for the 
 pleasure of the thing — — " 
 
 " But you don't suppose I can accept a present of money from 
 you, Mr. Dymes ? " 
 
 " Hang it ! Just as you like, of course. But don't make me 
 take it now, as if I'd looked in with my little bill. Send the 
 cheque, if you must. But what I really came for, when I called a 
 few weeks ago, was something else — quite a different thing, and a 
 good deal more important. Just sit down again, if you can spare 
 me a few minutes. " 
 
 With face averted. Alma sank back into her chair. Harvey 
 would give her the money without a word, but she dreaded the 
 necessity of asking him for it So disturbed were her thoughts 
 that she did not notice how oddly Dymes was regarding her, and 
 his next words sounded meaningless. 
 
 " By-the-bye, can we talk here ? " 
 
 " Talk ? " 
 
 " I mean " — he lowered his voice — " are we safe from inter- 
 ruption ? It's all right ; don't look frightened. The fact is, I 
 want to speak of something rather awkward — but it's something 
 you ought to know about, if you don't already." 
 
 " I am quite at leisure," she replied ; adding, with a nervous 
 movement of the head, " there will be no interruption." 
 
 " I want to ask you, then, have you seen Mrs. Strangeways 
 lately ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor Mrs. Carnaby .' " 
 
38o THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I understand you've broken -with them'altogether ? You don't 
 want anything more to do with that lot ? 
 
 " I have nothing whatever to do with them," Alma replied, 
 steadying her voice to a cold dignity. 
 
 " And I think you're quite fight. Now, look here — you've heard, 
 I dare say, that I'm going to be married ? Well, I'm not the kind 
 of fellow to talk sentiment, as you know. But I've had fair luck 
 in life, and I feel pretty pleased with myself, and if I can do 
 anybody a friendly turn — anybody that deserves it — I'm all there. 
 I want you just to think of me as a friend, and nothing else. 
 You're rather set against me, I know ; but try and forget all about 
 that. Things are changed. After all, you know, I'm one of the 
 men that people talk about ; my name has got into the ' direc- 
 tories of talent,' as somebody calls them ; and I have a good deal 
 at stake. It won't do for me to go fooling about any more. All 
 I mean is, that you can trust me, down to the ground. And 
 there's nobody I would be better pleased to help in a friendly way 
 than you, Mrs. Rolfe.'' 
 
 Alma was gazing at him in surprise, mingled with apprehension. 
 
 " Please say what you mean. I don't see how you can possibly 
 do me any service. I have given up all thought of a professional 
 career." 
 
 " I know you have. I'm sorry for it, but it isn't that I want to 
 talk about. You don't see Mrs. Carnaby, but I suppose you hear 
 of her now and then ? " 
 
 " Very rarely." 
 
 " You know that she has been taken up by Lady Isobel Bar- 
 ker ? " 
 
 " Who is Lady Isobel Barker ? '' 
 
 " Why, she's a daughter of the Earl of Bournemouth, and she 
 married a fellow on the Stock Exchange. There are all sorts of 
 amusing stories about her. I don't mean anything shady — just 
 the opposite. She did a good deal of slumming at the time when 
 it was fashionable, and started a home for women of a certain 
 kind — all that sort of thing. Barker is by way of being a million- 
 aire, and they live in great style ; have Royalties down at Bos- 
 combe, and so on. Well, Mrs. Carnaby has got hold of her. I 
 don't know how she managed it. Just after that affair it looked as 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 381 
 
 if she would have a bad time. People cut her — you know • all 
 about that ? " 
 
 " No, I don't. You mean that they thought ? " 
 
 ."Just so; they did think." He .nodded and smiled. "She 
 was all the talk at the clubs, and, ho doubt, in t^e boudoirs. I 
 wasn't a friend of hers, you know — met her now and then, that 
 was all ; so I didn't quite know what to think. But it looked — 
 didn't it? " 
 
 Alma avoided his glance, and said nothing. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder," pursued Dymes, " if she went to Lady 
 Isobel and talked about her hard case, and just asked for help. 
 At all events, last May we began to hear of Mrs. Carnaby again. 
 Women who wanted to be thought smart had quite altered their 
 tone about her. Men laughed, but some of them began to admit 
 that the case was doubtful. At all events. Lady Isobel was on 
 her side, and that meant a good deal." 
 
 " And she went about in society just as if nothing had hap- 
 pened ? " 
 
 " No, no. That would have been bad taste, considering where 
 her husband was. She wasn't seen much, only -talked about. 
 She's a clever woman, and by the time Carnaby's let loose she'll 
 have played the game so well that things will be made pretty soft 
 for him. I'm told he's a bit of a globe-trotter, sportsman, and so 
 on. All he has to do is to knock up a book of travels, and it'll go 
 like wildfire." 
 
 Alma bad pulled to pieces a tassel on her chair. 
 
 " What has all this to do with me ? " she asked abruptly. 
 
 " I'm coming to that. You don't know anything about Mrs. 
 Strangeways either? Well, there may be a doubt about Mrs. 
 Carnaby, but there's none about Mrs. S. She's just about as bad 
 as they make 'em. I could tell you things— but I won't. What I 
 want to know is, did you quarrel with her? " 
 
 " Quarrel ! Why should we have quarrelled ? What had I to 
 do with her ? " 
 
 " Nothing about Redgrave ? " asked Dymes, pushing his head 
 forward and speaking confidentially. 
 
 " What do you mean ? ". 
 
 " No harm, I assure you— all the other way. I know Mrs. 
 Strangeways, and I've had a good deal of talk with her lately, and 
 
382 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 I couldn't help suspecting you had a reason of your own for get- 
 ting clear of her. Let me tell you, first of all, that she's left her 
 house in Porchester Terrace. My belief is that she and her hus- 
 band haven't a five-pound note between them. And the queer 
 thing is, that this has come about since Redgrave's death." 
 
 He paused to give his words their full significance. Alma, no 
 longer disguising her interest, faced him with searching eyes. 
 
 "She's a bad un," pursued the musician, "and I shouldn't care 
 to tell all I think about her life for the last few years. I've seen a 
 good deal of life myself, you know, and I don't pretend to be 
 squeamish ; but I draw a line for women. Mrs. Strangeways goes 
 a good bit beyond it, as I know for certain." 
 
 "What is it to me? " said Alma, with tremulous impatience. 
 
 " Why, this much. She is doing her best to harm you, and in a 
 devilish artful way. She tries to make me believe — and it's certain 
 she says the same to others — that what happened at Wimbledon 
 was the result of a plot between you and Redgrave' s housekeeper ! " 
 
 Alma stared at him, her parted lips quivering with an abortive 
 laugh. 
 
 " Do you understand ? She says that you were furiously jeal- 
 ous of Mrs. Carnaby, and didn't care what you did to ruin her ; 
 that you put Redgrave's housekeeper up to telling Carnaby lies 
 about his wife." 
 
 " How long has she been saying this 1 " 
 
 " I heard it for the first time about two months ago. But let 
 me go on. The interesting thing is that, at the time of the trial 
 and after it, she was all the other way. She as good as told me 
 that she had proof against Mrs. Carnaby ; I fancy she told lots of 
 people the same. She talked as if she hated the woman. But 
 now that Mrs. Carnaby is looking up — you see ? — she's going to 
 play Mrs. Carnaby 's game at your expense. What I should like 
 to know is whether they've done it together ? " 
 
 " There can't be much doubt of that," said Alma, between her 
 teeth. 
 
 " I don't know," rejoined the other cautiously. " Have you 
 reason to think that Mrs. Carnaby would like to injure you ? " 
 
 " I'm quite sure she would do so if it benefited herself." 
 
 "And yet you were fast friends not long ago, weren't you?" 
 asked Dymes, with a look of genuine curiosity. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 383 
 
 " We don't always know people as well as we think. Where is 
 that woman living now ? — I mean, Mrs. Strangeways." 
 
 " That's more than I can tell you. She is— or is supposed to 
 be— out of town. I saw her last just before she left her house." 
 
 " Is the other in town ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Carnaby .> I don't know. I was going to say,'' Dymes 
 pursued, " that the story Mrs. S. has been telling seems to me very 
 clumsy, and that's why I don't think the other has any hand in it. 
 She seemed to have forgotten that Redgrave's housekeeper, who 
 was wanted by the police, wasn't likely to put herself in Carnaby's 
 way— the man she had robbed. 1 pointed that out, but she only 
 laughed. ' We're not bound to believe,' she said, ' all that Carnaby 
 said on his trial, ' " 
 
 " We are not," Alma remarked, with a hard smile. 
 
 " You think he dressed things up a bit .' " 
 
 " I think,'' answered Alma, " that he may have known more 
 than he told." 
 
 "That's my idea, too. But never mind; whatever the truth 
 may be, that woman is doing you a serious injury. I felt you 
 ought to know about it. People have talked about you a good 
 deal, wondering why on earth you dropped out of sight so sud- 
 denly after that splendid start ; and it was only natural they 
 should connect your name with the Carnaby affair, knowing, as 
 so many did, that you were a friend of theirs, and of Redgrave 
 too.'' 
 
 " I knew Mr. Redgrave," said Alma, " but I was no friend of 
 his." 
 
 Dymes peered at her. 
 
 " Didn't he interest himself a good deal in your business ? " 
 
 " Not more than many other people." 
 
 " Well, I'm very glad to hear that," said Dymes, looking about 
 the room. " I tell you, honestly, that whenever I have a chance 
 of speaking up for you, I shall do it." 
 
 "I am very much obliged, ■ but I really don't think it matters 
 what is said of me. I am not likely ever to meet the people 
 who talk about such things." 
 
 She said it in- so convincing a tone that Dymes looked at her 
 gravely. 
 
 "I never knew any one change so much," he observed. "Is 
 
384 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 it really your health ? No other reason for giving up such mag- 
 nificent chances ? " 
 
 " Of course, I have my reasons. They concern nobody but my- 
 self." 
 
 " I might give a guess, I dare say. Well, you're the best judge, 
 and we won't say any more about that. But look here — about 
 Mrs. S. and her scandal. I feel sure, as I said, that she's toadying 
 to Mrs. Carnaby, and expects to make her gain out of it somehow. 
 Her husband's a loafing, gambling fellow, and I shouldn't wonder 
 if he gave her the skip. Most likely she'll have to live by her wits, 
 and we know what that means in a woman of her kind. She'll be 
 more or less dangerous to everybody that's worth blackmailing." 
 
 " You think she had — she was dependent in some way upon 
 Mr. Redgrave? " asked Alma, in an undertone. 
 
 " I've heard so. Shall I tell you what a woman said who is very 
 likely to know } Long ago, in the time of her first marriage, she got 
 hold of something about him that would have made a furious scan- 
 dal, and he had to pay for her silence. All gossip ; but there's 
 generally a foundation for that kind of thing. If it's true, no doubt 
 she has' been at his relatives since his death. It doesn't look as 
 if they were disposed to be bled. Perhaps they turned the tables 
 on her. She has looked sour and disappointed enough for a long 
 time." 
 
 " I was just thinking," said Alma, with an air of serious delib- 
 eration, " whether it would be worth while for 7ne to turn the 
 tables on her, and prosecute her for slander." 
 
 " If you take my advice, you'll keep out of that," replied the 
 other, with emphasis. " But another thing has occurred to me. I 
 see your opinion of Mrs. Carnaby, and no doubt you have good 
 reason for it. Now, would it be possible to frighten her ? Have 
 you" — he peered more keenly — "any evidence that would make 
 things awkward for Mrs. Carnaby ? " 
 
 Alma kept close lips, breathing rapidly. 
 
 " If you liavc," pursued the other, " just give her a hint that 
 Mrs. Strangeways had better stop talking. You'll find it effectual, 
 no doubt." 
 
 He watched her, and tried to interpret the passion in her eyes. 
 
 " If I think it necessary,'' said Alma, and seemed to check her- 
 self. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 385 
 
 " No need to say any more. I wished to put you on your guard, 
 that's all. We've known each other for a longish time, and I've 
 often enough felt sorry that something didn't come off— you re- 
 member when. No good talking about that ; but I shall always 
 be glad if I can be a friend to you. And, I say, don't think any 
 more about that cheque, there's a good girl." 
 
 The note of familiar patronage was more than distasteful to 
 Alma. 
 
 " I shall, of course, send it," she replied curtly. 
 
 " As you please. Would you like to hear a bit from my new 
 opera ? It isn't every one gets the chance, you know." 
 
 Quite in his old way, he seated himself at the piano, and ran 
 lightly through a few choice morceaux, exacting praise, and show- 
 ing himself vexed because it was not fervent. In spite of her 
 wandering thoughts. Alma felt the seductiveness of these melodies 
 -—their originality, their grace — and once more she wondered at 
 their coming from the mind of such a man. 
 
 " Very pretty." 
 
 " Pretty ! " exclaimed the composer scornfully. " It's a good 
 deal more than that, and you know it. I don't care— there's some- 
 body else feels deuced proud of me, and good reason too. Well, 
 ta-ta ! " ' 
 
 There are disadvantages in associating with people whose every 
 word, as likely as not, may be an insidious falsehood. Thinking 
 over what she had heard from Dymes, Alma was inclined to be- 
 lieve him ; on the other hand, she knew it to be quite possible 
 that he sought her with some interested motive. The wise thing, 
 she knew, would be to disregard his reports, and hold aloof from 
 the "world in which they originated, But she had a strong desire 
 to see Mrs. Strangeways. There might be some one at the house 
 in Porchester Terrace who could help her to discover its late 
 tenant. However dangerous the woman's wiles and slanders, an 
 interview with her could do no harm, and might set at rest a 
 curiosity long lurking, now feverishly stimulated. With regard to 
 Sibyl, there could be little doubt that Dymes had heard, or con- 
 jectured, the truth. Sibyl was clever enough to make her perilous 
 reverse a starting-point for new social conquests. Were there but 
 a hope of confronting her with some fatal disclosure, and dragging 
 her down, down ! 
 
386 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 That cheque must be sent. She would show Harvey the ac- 
 count this evening, and have done with the unpleasantness of it. 
 Probably he remembered from time to time that she had never 
 told him how her business with Dymes was settled. No more 
 duplicity. The money would be paid, and therewith finis to that 
 dragging chapter of her life. 
 
 Harvey came home at five o'clock, and, as usual, had tea with 
 her. Of late he had been uneasy about Cecil Morphew, whose 
 story Alma knew ; to-day he spoke more hopefully. 
 
 " Shall I bring him here to-morrow, and make him stay over 
 Sunday ? Sunday is his bad day, and no wonder. If there were 
 a licensed poison-shop in London, they'd do a very fair trade on 
 Sundays.'' 
 
 " There are the public-houses," said Alma. 
 
 " Yes ; but Morphew doesn't incline that way. The fellow has 
 delicate instincts, and suffers all the more ; so the world is made. 
 I can't help hoping it may come right for him yet. I have a sus- 
 picion that Mrs. Winter may be on his side ; if so, it's only a ques- 
 tion of time. I keep at him like a slave-driver ; he has to work 
 whilst I'm there ; and he takes it very good-humouredly. But you 
 mustn't give him music. Alma ; he says he can't stand it." 
 
 " I'm much obliged to him,'' she answered, laughing. 
 
 " You understand well enough." 
 
 After dinner Alma found her courage and the fitting moment. 
 
 " I have something disagreeable to talk about. Mr. Dymes 
 called this afternoon, and handed in his bill." 
 
 " His bill ? Yes, yes, I remember.^What's all this ? Surely 
 you haven't obliged him to come looking after his money? " 
 
 " It's the first account I have received." 
 
 Rolfe puckered his face a little as he perused the document, but 
 ended, as he began, with a smile. In silence he turned to the 
 writing-table, took out his cheque-book, and wrote. 
 
 " You don't mind its being in my name ? " 
 
 " Not at all. Indeed, I prefer it. But I am'sorry and ashamed," 
 she added in a murmur. 
 
 " Let it be taken to the post at once," said Rolfe quietly. 
 
 When this was done. Alma made known what Dymes had told 
 her about Sibyl, speaking in an unconcerned voice, and refraining' 
 from any hint of suspicion or censure. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 387 
 
 " I had heard of it," said Harvey, with troubled brow, and evi- 
 dently wished to say no more. 
 
 " What do you suppose Mr. Carnaby will do ? " Alma inquired. 
 
 " Impossible to say. I'm told that the business at Coventry is 
 flourishing, and no doubt his interest in it remains. I hear, too, 
 that those Queensland mines are profitable at last. So there'll be 
 no money troubles. But what he will do " 
 
 The subject was dropped. 
 
 Harvey had succeeded in hiding his annoyance at the large debt 
 to Dymes, a sum he could ill afford ; but he was glad to have paid 
 it, and pleased with Alma's way of dismissing it to oblivion. The 
 talk that followed had turned his mind upon a graver trouble : he 
 sat thinking of Hugh Carnaby. Dear old Hugh ! Not long ago 
 the report ran that his health was in a bad state. To one who knew 
 him the wonder was that he kept alive. But the second year 
 drew on. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 On Monday morning, when Harvey and his friend had started 
 for town, and Hughie was at school, Alma made ready to go out. 
 In many months she had been to London only two or three times. 
 Thus alone could she subdue herself. She tried to forget all that 
 lay eastward from Gunnersbury, rejecting every kind of town 
 amusement, and finding society in a very small circle of acquain- 
 tances who lived almost as quietly as herself. But this morning 
 she yielded to the impulse made irresistible by Dymes's visit. In 
 leaving the house, she seemed to escape from an atmosphere so 
 still and heavy that it threatened her blood with stagnation ; she 
 breathed deeply of the free air, and hastened towards the railway 
 as if she had some great pleasure before her. 
 
 But this mood had passed long before the end of her journey. 
 Alighting at Queen's Road, she walked hurriedly to Porchester 
 Terrace, and from the opposite side of the way had a view of Mrs. 
 Strangeways' house. It was empty, to let. She crossed, and rang 
 the bell, on the chance that some caretaker might be within ; but 
 no one answered. Her heart throbbing painfully, she went on a 
 
388 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 little distance, then stood irresolute. A cab crawled by ; she raised 
 her hand, and gave the direction, " Oxford and Cambridge Man- 
 sions.'' Once here, she had no difficulty in carrying out her pur- 
 pose. Passion came to her aid ; and when Sibyl's door opened she 
 could hardly wait for an invitation before stepping in. 
 
 The drawing-room was changed ; it had been refurnished, and 
 looked even more luxurious than formerly. For nearly ten min- 
 utes she had to stand waiting ; seat herself she could not. Then 
 entered Sibyl. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mrs. Rolfe. I am glad to see you.'' 
 
 The latter sentence was spol<en not as a mere phrase of courtesy, 
 but with intention, with quiet yet unmistakable significance. Sibyl 
 did not offer her hand ; she moved a chair so that its back was to 
 the light, and sat down very much as she might have done if re- 
 ceiving an applicant for a " situation." 
 
 " You had some reason for coming so early ? " 
 
 Alma, who had felt uncertain how this interview would begin, 
 was glad that she had to meet no pretences of friendship. Her 
 heart burned within her ; she was pallid, and her eyes shone fiercely. 
 
 " I came to ask if you could tell me where Mrs. Strangeways is 
 to be found ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Strangeways?" Sibyl repeated, with cold surprise. "I 
 know nothing about her." 
 
 Feeling in every way at a disadvantage — contrast of costume told 
 in Sibyl's favour, and it was enhanced by the perfection of her self- 
 command — Alma could not maintain the mockery of politeness. 
 
 " Of course, you say that," she rejoined haughtily ; " and, of 
 course, I don't believe it.'' 
 
 " That is nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,'' remarked the other, smil- 
 ing. " Doubtless you have your own reasons for declining to be- 
 lieve me; just as you have your own reasons for — other things. 
 Your next inquiry ? " 
 
 " Hasn't it been rather unwise of you, keeping away from me all 
 this time? " 
 
 " Unwise ? I hardly see j'our meaning." 
 
 " It looked rather as if you felt afraid to meet me." 
 
 " I see ; that is your point of view." Sibyl seemed to reflect 
 upon it calmly. " To me, on the other hand, it appeared rather 
 strange that I neither saw nor heard from you at a time when 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 389 
 
 other friends were showing their sympathy. I heard that you 
 were ill for a short time, and felt sorry I was unable to call. 
 Later, you still kept silence. I didn't know the reason, and could 
 hardly be expected to ask for it. As for being afraid to meet you 
 — that, I suppose, is a suspicion natural to your mind. We won't 
 discuss it. Is there any other question you would like to ask ? " 
 
 Humiliated by her inability to reply with anything but a charge 
 she could not support, and fearing the violence of her emotions if 
 she were longer subjected to this frigid insult, Alma rose. 
 
 " One moment, if you please,'' continued Mrs. Carnaby. " I was 
 glad that you had come, as I had half wished for an opportunity 
 of speaking a few words to you. It isn't a matter of much im- 
 portance, but I may as well say, perhaps, that you are indiscreet in 
 your way of talking about me to your friends. Of course, we 
 haven't many acquaintances in common, but I happen to have 
 heard the opinion of me which you expressed to — let][me see, some 
 ladies named Leach, whom I once knew slightly. It seems hardly 
 worth while to take serious steps in the matter — though I might 
 find it necessary. I only wish, in your own interest, to say a word 
 of warning. You have behaved, all things considered " — she 
 dwelt on the phrase — " rather indiscreetly." 
 
 " I said what I knew to be the truth," replied Alma, meeting 
 her look with the satisfaction of defiance. 
 
 Sibyl approached one step. 
 
 " You knew it } " she asked, very softly and deliberately, search- 
 ing the passionate face with eyes as piercing as they were beau- 
 tiful, 
 
 " With certainty." 
 
 " I used to think you intelligent," said Sibyl, " but I fancy you 
 don't perceive what this ' certainty ' of yours suggests.'' She 
 paused, with a curling hp. " Let me put you on your guard. 
 You have very little command of your primitive feelings, and they 
 bring you into danger. I should be sorry to think that an un- 
 pleasant story I have heard whispered was anything more than ill- 
 natured scandal, but it's as well to warn you that oiher people 
 have a taste foT that kind of gossip." 
 
 " I'm well aware of it," flashed the listener. "And that was 
 the very reason why I came to ask you where Mrs. Strangeways 
 is hiding.'' 
 
390 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Mrs. Rolfe, you are aware of too many things. In your 
 position I should be uneasy." 
 
 " I will leave you to enjoy your own uneasiness," returned 
 Alma, with a contemptuous laugh. " You must have enough of 
 it, without imagining that of others.'' 
 
 She half turned. Sibyl again took one step forward, and spoke 
 with ever so little tremor in the even voice. 
 
 " You have understood me, I hope ? " 
 
 "Oh, quite. You have shown plainly how — afraid you are. 
 Good-morning, Mrs. Carnaby." 
 
 Baker Street station being so near, Alma was tempted to go 
 straightway and demand from the Leach sisters an explanation of 
 what she had heard ; they, too, seemed to be behaving treacher- 
 ously. But she was unwilling to miss the luncheon hour at home, 
 for Hughie would speak of it to his father, and so oblige her to 
 make false excuses. Besides, she had suffered more than 
 enough indignity (though not unavenged !), and it was better to 
 summon the sisters to her presence. 
 
 On reaching home, she at once sent them an ordinary invitation, 
 but of the briefest. In the evening she received Dymes's ac- 
 knowledgment of the cheque. Ne.xt day she wrote to him, a few 
 formal lines, requesting that he would let her know Mrs. Strange- 
 ways' address as soon as he had discovered it. 
 
 Dora Leach came to Gunnersbury alone. She was in distress 
 and worry, for her father had fallen ill again, and the doctors 
 doubted whether he vi^ould ever be fit to resume work ; it had just 
 dawned upon Dora that the breadwinner of the family deserved 
 rather more consideration than he had been wont to receive, and 
 that his death might involve unpleasant consequences for those 
 dependent upon him. To Alma's questioning she replied frankly 
 and with self-reproach. It was true that she had whispered her 
 friend's i suspicions of Mrs. Carnaby, but only to one person, and 
 in strictest confidence. Neither she nor Gerda had met Mrs. 
 Carnaby, and how the whisper could have reached Sibyl's ears 
 was inconceivable to her. 
 
 " It doesn't matter in the least," said Alma, finally. " To tell 
 you the truth, I'm not sorry." 
 
 " Why, that's just what I thought ! " exclaimed Dora, with sud- 
 den clearing of her countenance. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 391 
 
 In a fortnight or so there came a note from Dymes, written at 
 Brussels. He had ascertained that Mrs. Strangeways was some- 
 where on the Continent, but as yet he could not succeed in " run- 
 ning her down." Let Mrs. Rolfe depend upon his zeal in this 
 search, as in any other matter in which he could be of use to her. 
 Unfortunately, this envelope came under Harvey's eyes, and 
 Alma, knowing he had seen it, felt obliged to speak. 
 
 " Mr. Dymes refuses to believe that I shall never play again in 
 public," she remarked, putting down his letter, as carelessly as 
 possible, by her plate at breakfast. 
 
 " Does he pester you ? If so, it might be better for me to " 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! I can manage my own correspondence, Harvey, 
 thank you." 
 
 Her tone of slight petulance was due to fear that he might ask 
 to see the letter, and it had its effect. But Alma's heart sank at 
 the deception, and her skill in practising it. Was it impossible to 
 become what she desired to be, an honest woman ? Only yester- 
 day Harvey had spoken to her with vexation of a piece of untruth- 
 fulness in Hughie, and had begged her to keep a watch upon the 
 child's habit in this respect. And she had promised, with much 
 earnestness, much concern. 
 
 There are women who can breathe only in the air of lies and of 
 treachery. Alma rebelled against the fate which made her life 
 dishonourable. Fate— she declared— not the depravity of her 
 own heart. From the dark day that saw her father's ruin, she 
 had been condemned to a struggle with circumstances. She 
 meant honestly ; she asked no more than the free exercise of in- 
 stincts nature had given her ; but destiny was adverse, and step 
 by step had brought her into a position so false, so hopeless, that 
 she wondered at her strength in living on. 
 
 Hughie had begun to learn the maps of countries, and prided 
 himself on naming them as he turned over an atlas. One day, 
 about this time, she looked over his shoulder and saw the map of 
 Italy. 
 
 " Those are lakes," said the child, pointing north. " Tell me 
 their names, mother." 
 
 But she was silent. Her eyes had fallen upon Garda, and at 
 the head of the lake was a name which thrilled her memory. 
 What if she had gone to Riva ? Suddenly, and for the first time, 
 
392 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 she saw it as a thing that might have happened ; not as a mere 
 darlc suggestion abhorrent to her thought. Had she known the 
 world a little better, it might have been. Then, how different her 
 life ! Pleasure, luxury, triumph ; for she had proved herself capa- 
 ble of triumphing. He, the man of money and influence, would 
 have made it his pride to smooth the way for her. And perhaps 
 never a word against her reputation ; or, if whispers, did she not 
 know by this time how indulgent society can be to its brilliant 
 favourites ? 
 
 As it was : a small house at Gunnersbury, a baffled ambition, a 
 life of envy, hatred, fear, suffered in secret, hidden by base or 
 paltry subterfuge. A husband whom she respected, whose love 
 she had never ceased to desire, though, strange to say, she knew 
 not whether she loved him. Only death could part them ; but 
 how much better for him and for her if they had never met ! 
 Their thoughts and purposes so unlike ; he, with his heart and 
 mind set on grave, quiet, restful things, hating the world's tu- 
 mult, ever hoping to retire beyond its echo ; she, her senses cry- 
 ing for the delight of an existence that loses itself in whirl and 
 glare. 
 
 In a crowded drawing-room she had heard some one draw at- 
 tention to her — "the daughter of Bennet Frothingham." That 
 was how people thought of her, and would it not have been wiser 
 if she had so thought of herself.'' Daughter of a man who had 
 set all on a great hazard ; who had played for the world's reward, 
 and, losing, flung away his life. What had she to do with 
 domestic virtues, and the pleasures of a dull, decorous circle ? 
 Could it but come over again, she would accept the challenge of 
 circumstance, which she had failed to understand ; accept the 
 scandal and the hereditary shame ; welcome the lot cast for her, 
 and, like her father, play boldly for the great stakes. His widow 
 might continue to hold her pious faith in him, and refuse to be- 
 lieve that his name merited obloquy ; his child knew better. She 
 had mistaken her path, lost the promise of her beauty and her 
 talent, led astray by the feeble prejudice of those who have neither 
 one nor the other. Too late, and worse than idle now, to recog- 
 nise it. She would be a good woman, rule her httle house, bring 
 up her child, and have no will but her husband's. 
 
 House-ruling was no easy matter. Things did not go as she 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 393 
 
 wished ; the servants were inefficient, sometimes refractory, and 
 she loathed the task of keeping them up to their duties. Insomnia 
 began to trouble her again, and presently she had recourse to the 
 forbidden sleeping-draught. Not regularly, but once a week or 
 so, when the long night harried her beyond endurance. Rolfe did 
 not suspect it, for she never complained to him. Winter was her 
 bad time. In the spring her health would improve, as usual, and 
 then she would give up the habit. 
 
 At Christmas the Langlands had the customary visit from their 
 relative, Mr. Thistlewood, who renewed his acquaintance with 
 Alma. At their first meeting she was struck by his buoyant air, 
 his animated talk. A week later, he called in the afternoon. 
 Two ladies happened to be with Alma, and they stayed a long 
 time ; but Thistlewood, who comported himself rather oddly, say- 
 ing Httle and sometimes neglecting a remark addressed to him, 
 stayed yet longer. When he was alone with his hostess, he took 
 a chair near to her, bent forward, and said, smiling— 
 
 " You remember our talk about marriage on a minute in- 
 come .' " 
 
 " I do, very well." 
 
 " I have found some one who isn't afraid of it.'' 
 
 " You have ?— The same person who formerly was ? " 
 
 " No ; she was not afraid of the income, but of me. I couldn't 
 be surprised, though it hit me hard. Time has spoken for me." 
 
 Harvey was dining in town. He came back with vexatious 
 news about Cecil Morphew, who neglected business, looked ill, 
 and altogether seemed in a bad way. As he talked, he began to 
 notice that Alma regarded him with brighter and happier eyes 
 than for many a day. 
 
 " Why does "it amuse you ? " he asked, stopping in his narra- 
 tive. 
 
 " It doesn't ; I'm as sorry as you are. But I have a surprise for 
 
 you." 
 
 " A pleasant one, this time, I see." 
 "Mrs. Abbott is going to marry Mr. Thistlewood." 
 She watched the effect of her words, and for an instant felt the 
 old pang, the old bitterness. But Harvey's confusion of feeling 
 soon passed, giving way to a satisfaction that could not be mis- 
 taken. 
 
394 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Who has told you ? " 
 
 " The happy man hhtiself." 
 
 " I am glad— heartily glad ! But I didn't think it would interest 
 you so much.'' 
 
 " Oh, women — marriages — ! " 
 
 She threw a pretty scorn upon herself. 
 
 " Yes, that's good news, They will suit each other. But she'll 
 give up her school, and that's a nuisance.'' 
 
 " There are others as good." 
 
 " But not here. Another removal, I suppose. — When is it to 
 be?" 
 
 " Not till the Easter holidays." 
 
 They were in the library. Harvey began to fill his pipe, and 
 nothing more was said until he had drawn a few meditative puffs. 
 
 " Another removal," then escaped him, with half a groan. 
 
 " Why should you care ? " asked Alma thoughtfully. " You 
 don't like this place.'' 
 
 " As well as any other. It's convenient for town." 
 
 " Do you really think of going on in that business, which you 
 detest?" 
 
 "It has brought in a little money, and may— ought to — bring 
 more. But if Morphew goes down " 
 
 Alma glanced at him, and said timidly — 
 
 " You are going to Greystone at Easter ? " 
 
 " We shall all go. What of that ? " 
 
 " Haven't you " — she spoke with an effort — " sometimes thought 
 you would like to Hve there ? " 
 
 " Great heavens — Alma ! " 
 
 He stared at her in humorous astonishment, then slowly shook 
 his head. How could she live in such a place as Greystone ? 
 And what on earth did she mean by disturbing him with such a 
 suggestion ? But Alma, gravely and repeatedly, assured him that 
 she could live there very well ; that in all likelihood she would be 
 much more contented there than here. 
 
 " I should bring out my violin again, and the Greystone people 
 would admire me. There's a confession ! — to prove that I am in 
 earnest. I can't conquer the world ; I don't wish it ; that's all 
 over. But I should find it pleasant to have a reputation in Grey- 
 stone — I should indeed." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 395 
 
 Harvey sighed, and could not look at her. 
 
 " And Hughie," she continued, " would go to the Grammar 
 School. You know how you would like that. And living there is 
 cheap ; we might keep our horse again. — Don't say anything now, 
 but think about it." 
 
 He raised his eyes, and fixed them upon her with a look of in- 
 finite tenderness and gratitude. It was Alma now who sighed, 
 but not audibly. 
 
 Before Thistlewood went north again, Harvey enjoyed long 
 talks with him. Mary Abbott he saw only in the presence of 
 other people. But on an evening in February, when Alma was at 
 the Langlands' and he had promised to call for her at ten o'clock, 
 he left home an hour earlier and walked past Mrs. Abbott's house. 
 A light in the window of her sitting-room showed that Mary was 
 at home. After a turn or two backwards and forwards, he went 
 up to the door and knocked. A very young servant took his 
 name to her mistress, and then admitted him. 
 
 " Will you let me answer your letter personally .' " he said, as 
 Mrs. Abbott welcomed him in the room where she sat alone. 
 
 She had written about Minnie Wager, begging that he would in 
 future cease to contribute to the girl's support, and be responsible 
 only for the boy. In her new home there would be no need of a 
 servant ; she and Minnie would do the housework together. Im- 
 possible, she wrote, to speak of his kindness both to her and the 
 children. For Minnie, who might henceforth be looked upon as 
 self-supporting, he must no longer be taxed. The child owed 
 him every hope in her life ; let him be satisfied with what he had 
 done so generously. 
 
 Of these things they talked for a few minutes. It was easy to 
 see how great a change had befallen Mary Abbott's outlook upon 
 life. She was younger by several years, yet not like herself of that 
 earlier time ; much gentler, much sweeter in face and word. 
 Harvey observed her with keen pleasure, and, becoming aware of 
 his gaze, his smile, she blushed like a girl. 
 
 " Mr. Rolfe — I am sure you feel that I am deserting my post." 
 
 " To be sure you are. I shall always owe you a grudge 
 for it." 
 
 " I thought of it all — of Hughie and the others. I didn't know 
 how I should ever face you." 
 
396 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " 'Twas a shameless thing. And yet I can find it in my heart 
 to forgive you. You are so ingenuous about it." 
 
 Mary looked up again. 
 
 " What shall you do — about Hughie ? " 
 
 " Oh, there's a great scheme on foot. Alma suggests that we 
 shall go and live at Greystone. It tempts me." 
 
 " That it must, indeed ! I know how you would like it." 
 
 "We shouldn't be so very far apart then — an hour's journey or 
 so. You would come to us, and we to you." 
 
 " Delightful ! " 
 
 They had not much more to say, but each was conscious of 
 thought in the other's mind that supplemented their insufficient 
 phrases. As they shook hands, Mary seemed trying to speak. 
 The lamplight made a glimmer in her eyes, and their lids drooped 
 as she said at length — 
 
 " I am so glad that you like each other." 
 
 " He's a splendid fellow," replied Rolfe joyously. " I think no 
 end of him." 
 
 " And he of you — for I have told him everything." 
 
 Then Harvey quitted the house, and walked about under the 
 starry sky until it was time to call for Alma. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Yet once again did Alma hypnotise her imagination with a new 
 ideal of life. Her talk was constantly of Greystone. She began a 
 correspondence with Mrs, Morton, who did her best to encourage 
 all pleasant anticipations — careful the while, at her husband's bid- 
 ding and Harvey's too, not to exaggerate the resources of Grey- 
 stone for a mind and temper such as Alma's. Of course the little 
 town had its musical circle, in which Mrs. Rolfe's talent would find 
 an appreciative reception. Touching on this point to her corres- 
 pondent, Alma remarked, with emphasised modesty, that she must 
 //('/ be regarded as a professional violinist ; it would be better, per- 
 haps, if nothing were said about her " rather audacious experi- 
 ment " in London. Meanwhile, a suitable house was being looked 
 for. There need be no hurry ; midsummer was the earliest possi- 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 397 
 
 ble date for removal, and a few months later might prove more 
 convenient. 
 
 At Easter came Mary Abbott's wedding, which was celebrated 
 as quietly as might be. Alma had done her utmost to atone for 
 bygone slights and coldness ; she and Mary did not love each 
 other, nor ever could, and for that reason they were all the more 
 affectionate at this agitating time. When all was over, the Rolfes 
 set forth on their visit to Greystone. Harvey could not look for- 
 ward to complete enjoyment of the holiday, for by this time Cecil 
 Morphew had succumbed to his old habits of tossing indolence, 
 and only pretended to look after his business. If Harvey withdrew, 
 the shop must either be closed or pass into other hands. Pecuni- 
 ary loss was the least vexatious part of the affair. Morphew, 
 reckless in the ruin of his dearest hope, would seek excitement, try 
 once more to enrich himself by gambling, and so go down to the 
 depths whence there is no rescue. As a last hope, Harvey had 
 written to Henrietta Winter a long letter of all but passionate ap- 
 peal ; for answer he received a few lines, infinitely sorrowful, but 
 of inflexible resolve. " In the sight of God, Mr. Morphew already 
 has a wife. I should be guilty of a crime if I married him." With 
 a desperate ejaculation, Rolfe crushed up the sheet of paper, and 
 turned to other things. 
 
 Whilst she was at Greystone, Alma heard again from Felix 
 Dymes, his letter having been forwarded. He wrote that Mrs. 
 Strangeways was about to return to England, and that before long 
 she might be heard of at a certain hotel in London. As this letter 
 had escaped Harvey's notice, Alma was spared the necessity of 
 shaping a fiction about it. Glad of this, and all but decided to put 
 Mrs. Strangeways utterly out of her life and mind, she sent no 
 answer. 
 
 But when she had been back again for some weeks at Gunners- 
 bury ; when a house at Greystone was taken (though it would not 
 be ready for them till Michaelmas) ; when she was endeavouring, 
 day after day, to teach Hughie, and to manage her servants, and 
 to support a wavering hope, there arrived one morning a letter 
 from Mrs. Strangeways. It was dated from the hotel which 
 Dymes had mentioned, and it asked Alma to call there. A simple, 
 ■friendly invitation, suggestive of tea and chat. Alma did not 
 speak of it, and for an hour or two thought she could disregard it 
 
398 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 altogether. But that evening she talked to Harvey of shopping 
 she had to do in town, and the following afternoon she called 
 upon Mrs. Strangeways. 
 
 A lift carried her to the topmost, or all but topmost, storey of 
 the vast hotel, swarming, murmurous. She entered a small 
 sitting-room, pretentiously comfortless, and from a chair by the 
 open window — for it was a day of hot sunshine — Mrs. Strange- 
 ways rose to greet her ; quite in the old way, smiling with head 
 aside, cooing rapidly an effusive welcome. Alma looked round to 
 see that the door was shut ; then, declining the offered hand, she 
 said coldly — 
 
 " You are mistaken if you think I have come as a friend." 
 
 " Oh ! I am so sorry to hear you say that. Do sit down, and 
 let me hear aU about it. I have so looked forward to seeing you." 
 
 " I am only here to ask what good it can do you to talk ill of 
 me." 
 
 " I really don't understand. I am quite at a loss." 
 
 " But I know for certain that you have tried to injure me by 
 telling extraordinary falsehoods." 
 
 Mrs. Strangeways regarded her with an air of gently troubled 
 deprecation. 
 
 " Oh, you have been grievously misled. Who can have told 
 you this ? " 
 
 " The name doesn't matter. I have no doubt of the fact." 
 
 " But at least you will tell me what I am supposed to have said." 
 
 Alma hesitated, and only after several interchanges of question 
 and answer did the full extent of her accusation appear. There- 
 upon Mrs. Strangeways smiled, as if with forbearance. 
 
 " Now I understand. But I have been cruelly misrepresented. 
 I heard such a rumour, and' I did my best to contradict it. I 
 heard it, unfortunately, more than once.' 
 
 Again Alma found herself in conflict with an adroitness, a self- 
 possession, so much beyond her own, that the sense of being 
 maliciously played with goaded her into rage. 
 
 " No one but yourself could ever have started such a story ! " 
 
 " You mean," sounded the other voice, still soft, though not 
 quite so amiable, " that I was the only person who knew " 
 
 And there Mrs. Strangeways paused, as if discreetly. 
 
 " Knew ? Knew what ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 399 
 
 " Only that you had reason for a little spite against your dear 
 friend." 
 
 " Suppose it was so," exclaimed Alma, remembering too well 
 her last conversation with this woman. " Whatever you knew, 
 or thought you knew, about me — and it was little enough — you 
 have been making use of it disgracefully." 
 
 " You say I knew very little," put in the other, turning a ring 
 upon her hand ; " but you will admit that it was enough to excite 
 my curiosity. May I not have taken trouble to learn more ? " 
 
 " Any amount of trouble would have taught you nothing ; 
 there was nothing to discover. And that you know as well as I 
 do." 
 
 Mrs. Strangeways moved her head, as if in good-natured ac- 
 quiescence. 
 
 " Don't let us be harsh with each other, my dear. We have 
 both had our worries and trials in consequence of that unfortunate 
 affair. You, I can see, have gone through a good deal ; I assure 
 you, so have I. But oughtn't you to remember that our mis- 
 fortunes were caused by the same person ? If I " 
 
 " Your misfortunes are nothing to me. And I shouldn't think 
 you would care to talk about them." 
 
 " Surely I might say the same to you, my dear Alma ? Is there 
 very much to choose between us ? " 
 
 Alma flushed with resentment, but had no word ready on her 
 parched tongue. The other went on in an unbroken flow of 
 mocking good-humour. 
 
 " We ought to be the best of friends. I haven't the least wish 
 to do you harm, and nothing would please me better than to grat- 
 ify your little feeling against a certain person. I may be able to 
 manage that. Let me tell you something— of course in the strict- 
 est confidence." Her voice was playful for a moment. " I have 
 been trying to find some one — you know who I mean — who mys- 
 teriously disappeared. That interests you, I see. Tt's very dif- 
 ficult ; such people don't let themselves be dropped upon by 
 chance a second time. But, do you know, I have something very 
 like a clue, at last. Yes "—she nodded familiarly—" I have." 
 
 In vain Alma tried to lock her lips. 
 
 " What if you find her ? " 
 
 " Do you forget that some one will very soon be at large again. 
 
40O THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 and that some one's wife, a very clever woman, counts on deceiv- 
 ing the world as she deceived him? " 
 
 " You are sure she dz'd deceive him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Strangeways laughed. 
 
 " You are acute, my dear. You see the puzzle from all sides. 
 But I won't go into that just now. What I want to show you is, 
 that our interests are the same. We should both dearly like to 
 see a certain person shown up. I begin to see my way to do it 
 very thoroughly. It would delight you if I were at liberty to tell 
 what I^actually /lave got hold of, but you must wait a little. My 
 worst difficulty, now, is want of money. People have to be 
 bought, you know, and I am not rich — . Don't you think you 
 could help a little ? " 
 
 The question came out with smooth abruptness, accompanied by 
 a look which startled the hearer. 
 
 " I ? I have no money." 
 
 " What an idea ! " 
 
 " I tell you I haven't a penny of my own." 
 
 " My dear Alma, you have obliging bankers. One of them is 
 doing very well indeed. You didn't go to his wedding? " 
 
 Alma felt a chill of fear. The woman's eyes seemed to cast a 
 net about her, and to watch her struggle as it tightened. 
 
 " I don't understand you. I have nothing to do with your 
 plots.'' 
 
 She strung her muscles and stood up ; but Mrs. Strangeways, 
 scarcely moving, still looked at her with baleful directness. 
 
 " It would be a shame to lose our sport for want of a little 
 money. I must ask you to help, really." 
 
 " I can't — and won't." 
 
 " I feel sure you will — rather than have anything happen. You 
 are leading, I hear, a most exemplary life ; I should be so sorry to 
 disturb it. But really, you must help in our undertaking." 
 
 There was a very short silence. 
 
 " A week, even a fortnight hence, will do. No great sum ; two 
 or three hundred pounds. We won't say any more about it ; 1 
 depend upon you. In a fortnight's time will do." 
 
 " Do you imagine," exclaimed Alma, on a high, quivering note, 
 " that I am in your power ? " 
 
 "Hush! It is very dangerous to talk like that in a hotel.— 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 401 
 
 Think over what I have said. You will find me here. Think, and 
 remember. You will be quite satisfied with the results, but your 
 help is indispensable.'' 
 
 Therewith Mrs. Strangeways turned to the open window. 
 Looking at her elaborately plaited yellow hair, her thin neck, her 
 delicate fingers just touching the long throat, Alma felt an instinct 
 of savagery ; in a flash of the primitive mind, she saw herself 
 spring upon her enemj', tear, bite, destroy. The desire still shook 
 her as she stood outside in the corridor, waiting to descend. And 
 in the street she walked like a somnambulist, with wide eyes, 
 straight on. Curious glances at length recalled her to herself ; she 
 turned hurriedly from the crowded highway. 
 
 Before reaching home, she had surveyed her position, searched 
 her memory. " The wretch is counting on my weakness. Know- 
 ing she can do nothing, she thinks I shall be frightened by the 
 threat. Money ? And perhaps all she said only a lie to tempt 
 me I Let her do her worst — and that will be nothing." 
 
 And by this she held, letting the days go by. The fortnight 
 passed. She was ill with apprehension, with suspense ; but noth- 
 ing happened. Three weeks, and nothing happened. Then Alma 
 laughed, and went about the house singing her deliverance. 
 
 On that day, Mrs. Strangeways sat talking with Mrs. Carnaby, 
 in the latter's drawing-room. Her manner was deferential, but 
 that of a friend. Sibyl, queening it at some distance, had the air 
 of conferring a favour as she listened. 
 
 " I haven't the least doubt that I shall soon lay my hand upon 
 her. I have had an answer to my last advertisement." 
 
 " Then let me see it," replied Sibyl coldly. 
 
 " Impossible. I put myself in a position of much danger. I 
 dare not trust even you, Mrs. Carnaby." 
 
 " Very well. You know my promise. Get her into the hands 
 of the police, and your reward is waiting." 
 
 " But I may lose my opportunity, for want of money. If you 
 would trust me with only— say a hundred pounds." 
 
 " Not a farthing. I didn't ask you to undertake this. If you 
 do it, well and good, I will pay you. But nothing till then." 
 
 Mrs. Strangeways perused the carpet. 
 
 -■= Any one else," she murmured, " might be tempted to think 
 that you didn't really care to have her caught." 
 
402 THE WHIRLPOOL. 
 
 " You may be tempted to think exactly what you like,'' answered 
 Sibyl, with fine scorn. 
 
 The other scrutinised her, with an eye of anxious uncertainty. 
 
 " Have you thought, again, of taking any steps in the other 
 matter.? " 
 
 " Have you aiiything to show ? " 
 
 " No. But it can be obtained. A charge of slander could be 
 brought against her at any moment. If you prefer libel, it is 
 merely taking a little trouble." 
 
 Sibyl reflected. 
 
 "There is no hurry. I will pay you, as I said, for any trust- 
 worthy evidence — of any kind. You bring me none. — Does she 
 come to see you ? " 
 
 " Occasionally." 
 
 " And — have you succeeded in making her pay ? " asked Sibyl, 
 with a curl of the lips. 
 
 Mrs. Strangeways merely smiled. After a brief pause, Sibyl 
 looked at her watch, and rose. 
 
 " I have an engagement. And — pray don't trouble to come 
 again unless you have really something to come for. I can't pre- 
 tend to have any taste for this kind of conversation. It reafly 
 matters very little ; we know that woman will be caught some 
 day, and I shall have the pleasure of prosecuting her for stealing 
 my jewellery and things. The other person — perhaps she is a 
 little beneath my notice." 
 
 She rang the bell, and Mrs. Strangeways, having no alternative, 
 slightly bent her head and withdrew. 
 
 Mrs. Carnaby had no engagement ; she was quite at leisure, 
 and, as usual nowadays, spent her leisure in thought. She did 
 not read much, and not at all in the solid books which were to be 
 seen lying about her rooms ; but Lady Isobel Barker, and a few 
 other people, admired her devotion to study. Certainly one or two 
 lines had begun to reveal themselves on Sibyl's forehead, which 
 might possibly have come of late reading and memory overstrained ; 
 they might also be the record of other experiences. Her beauty 
 was more than ever of the austere type; in regarding her, one 
 could have murmured — 
 
 " Chaste as the Icicle 
 That's curded by the frost from purest snow, 
 And hangs on Dian's temple." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 403 
 
 But in privacy Sibyl did not look her best. Assuredly not after 
 the withdrawal of Mrs. Strangeways, when her lips, sneering away 
 their fine contour, grew to an ugly hardness, and her eyes smalled 
 themselves in a vicious intensity of mental vision. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Major Carnaby, Hugh's brother, was now in England. A 
 stranger to the society in which Mrs. Carnaby had lived, he knew 
 nothing of the gossip at one time threatening her with banishment 
 from polite circles. An honest pnan, and taking for granted the 
 honesty of his kinsfolk, he put entire faith in Hugh's story, de- 
 spatched to him by letter a few days after the calamitous event at 
 Wimbledon. On arriving in London, the good Major was pleased, 
 touched, flattered by the very warm welcome with which his sister- 
 in-law received him. Hitherto they had seen hardly anything of 
 each other ; but since the disaster their correspondence had been 
 frequent, and Sibyl's letters were so brave, yet so pathetic, that 
 Major Carnaby formed the highest opinion of her. She did not 
 pose as an injured woman ; she never so much as hinted at the 
 activity of slanderous tongues ; she spoke only of Hugh, the dear, 
 kind, noble fellow, whom fate had so cruelly visited. The favour- 
 able impression was confirmed as soon as they met. The Major 
 found that this beautiful, high-hearted creature had, among her 
 many virtues, a sound capacity for business ; no one could have 
 looked after her husband's worldly interests with more assiduity 
 and circumspection. He saw that Hugh had been quite right in 
 assuring him (at Sibyl's instance) that there was no need whatever 
 for him to neglect his military duties and come home at an incon- 
 venient time. Hugh's affairs were in perfect order ; all he would 
 have to think about was the recovery of health and mental tran- 
 quillity. 
 
 To this end, they must decide upon some retreat in which he 
 might pass a quiet month or two. That dear and invaluable 
 friend, to whom Sibyl owed " more than she could tell " (much 
 more than she could tell to Major Carnaby), was ready with a 
 delightful suggestion. Lady Isobel (that is to say, her auriferous 
 
404 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 husband, plain Mr. Barker) had a little house in the north, cosy 
 amid moor and mountain, and she freely offered it. There Hugh 
 and his wife might abide in solitude until the sacred Twelfth, when 
 religious observance would call thither a small company of select 
 pilgrims. The offer was gratefully accepted. Major Carnaby saw 
 no reason for hesitating, and agreed with Sibyl that the plan should 
 be withheld from Hugh until the last moment, as a gratifying sur- 
 prise. By some means, however, on the day before Hugh's re- 
 lease, there appeared in certain newspapers a little paragraph 
 making known to the public this proof of Lady Isobel's friendship 
 for Sibyl and her husband. 
 
 " It's just as well," said Mrs. Carnaby, after appearing vexed for 
 a moment. " People will be saved the trouble of calling here. 
 But it really is mysterious how the papers get hold of things." 
 
 She was not quite sure that Hugh would approve her arrange- 
 ment, and the event justified this misgiving. Major Carnaby was 
 to bring his brother to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, and, if 
 possible, all were to travel northward that same day. But Hugh, 
 on hearing what was proposed, made strong objection : he refused 
 to accept the hospitality of people quite unknown to him ; why, 
 with abundant resources of their own, should they become indebted 
 to strangers ? So vehement was his resistance, and so pitiful the 
 state of body and mind which showed itself in his all but hysteri- 
 cal excitement, that Sibyl pretended to abandon the scheme. To- 
 day they would remain here, talking quietly ; by to-morrow they 
 might have decided what to do. 
 
 At ten o'clock next morning, when Sibyl had been up for an 
 hour, Hugh still lay asleep. She went softly into the room, lighted 
 by the sun's yellow glimmer through blind and lace curtains, and 
 stood looking at him, her husband. To him she had given all the 
 love of which she was capable ; she had admired him for his 
 strength and his spirit, had liked him as a companion, had prized 
 the flattery of his ardent devotion, his staunch fideUty. To have 
 married him was, of course, a mistake, not easy of explanation in 
 her present mind ; she regretted it, but with no bitterness, with no 
 cruel or even unkind thought. His haggard features, branded with 
 the long rage of captivity ; his great limbs, wasted to mere bone 
 and muscle, moved her indignant pity. Poor dear old boy ! 
 
 He believed her ; he still believed her. She saw that these two 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 405 
 
 years of misery had made his faith in her something like a religion ; 
 he found it his one refuge from despair. " But for that, Sibyl, I 
 shouldn't be alive now ! " She had known self-reproach : now again 
 it touched her slightly, passingly— poor old boy ! But unfaithful to 
 him ? To call that unfaithfulness ? The idea was too foolish. 
 
 Her fears were all outlived. She had dared the worst, and dar- 
 ing was grown an easy habit. But in the life that lay before 
 them, her judgment, her ambitions, must prevail and direct. Yes- 
 terday she had no course save yielding ; to-day her rule must begin. 
 
 Hugh was stirring. He groaned, and threw out one of his 
 arms ; muttered, as if angrily. She touched him, and on the in- 
 stant he awoke. 
 
 " Sibyl } Good God ! that's a queer thing — I dreamt that yester- 
 day was a dream, and that I had woke up to find myself . Did 
 
 you ever do that — dream you were dreaming .' " 
 
 She stroked his head, laughing playfully. 
 
 " You've had a good long night. Don't you feel better ? Shall 
 I bring you some breakfast here ? " 
 
 " No ; I must get up. What's the time ? Miles will be com- 
 ing." 
 
 Sibyl knew that the Major would not be here until two o'clock ; 
 but she said nothing, and left him to dress. 
 
 On the breakfast-table were delicacies to tempt his palate, but 
 Hugh turned from them. He ate for a few minutes only, without 
 appetite, and, as on the day before, Sibyl was annoyed by the 
 strange rudeness with which he fed himself ; he seemed to have 
 forgotten the haGits of refinement at table. Afterwards he lighted 
 a cigar, but soon threw it aside ; tobacco made him sick. In the 
 drawing-room he moved aimlessly about, blundering now and 
 then against a piece of furniture, and muttering a curse. The 
 clothes he wore, out of his old wardrobe, hung loose about him ; 
 he had a stoop in the shoulders. 
 
 " Sibyl, what are we going to do ? " 
 
 For this she had waited. She sat looking at him with a com- 
 passionate smile. It was an odd thing if this poor broken-down 
 man could not be made subservient to her will. 
 
 " I still think, dear boy, that we ought to accept Lady Isobel's 
 invitation." 
 
 A nervous paroxysm shook him. 
 
4o6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " Damn Lady Isobel! I thought that was done with." 
 
 " I don't think you would speak of her like that, Hugh, if you 
 knew all her kindness to me. I couldn't tell you all yesterday. 
 May I now .' Or shall I only irritate you ? " 
 
 " What is it ? Of course, I don't want you to offend her. But 
 I suppose she has common-sense ? " 
 
 " More than most women. There's no fear of offending her. 
 I have another reason. Come and sit quietly by me, and let us 
 talk as we used to do. Do you know, dear, it's a good thing for 
 me that I had powerful friends ; I needed all their help against my 
 enemies." 
 
 " What enemies? " 
 
 " Have you forgotten what you yourself said, and felt so 
 strongly, at that time — what a danger I was exposed to when we 
 determined to tell the whole truth ? You knew what some people 
 would say." 
 
 " They've said it, no doubt ; and what harm has it done you ? 
 Tell me a name, and if it's a man " 
 
 " Don't ! I can't bear to see that look on your face, Hugh. 
 You could do nothing but endless harm, trying to defend me that 
 way. I have lived it down, thinking of you even more than of my- 
 self. There was a time when I almost despaired ; people are so 
 glad to think evil. If I had been a weak woman, I should have 
 run away and hidden myself ; and then everybody would have 
 said, ' I told you so.' But I had to think of you, and that gave 
 me strength. What could I do ? Truth alone is no good against 
 the world ; but truth with a handle to its name and with a million 
 of money — that's a different thing. It was life or death, dear 
 boy, and I had to fight for it. So I went to Lady Isobel Barker. 
 I only knew her by name. She, of course, knew me by name, and 
 cold enough she was when I got admitted to her. But half-an- 
 hour's talk — and I had won ! She was my friend ; she would 
 stand by me, and all the world should know it. Stay ! The worst 
 is over, but there's still a good deal to be done. It has to be 
 known that my friends are your friends also. There was a para- 
 graph in the papers yesterday, saying that you and your wife were 
 going as Lady Isobel's guests to that house of hers. She did that 
 for me. And now, do you think we ought to seem — even seem — 
 to slight her kindness ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 407 
 
 Hugh was turning about, chafing impotently. 
 
 " Then you mean to go on here ? " he asked, with half-appeal- 
 ing, half-resentful eyes. 
 
 Sibyl made a gesture of entreaty. 
 
 " What other life is there for me ? What would you have me 
 do ? " 
 
 His arms fell ; for a minute he sat with head hanging, his eyes 
 fixed and blank like those of a drunken man. Then, as if goaded 
 suddenly — 
 
 " Who are these enemies you talk about .' " 
 
 Sibyl's look wandered ; her lips moved in hesitancy. 
 
 " Name one of them." 
 
 " Isn't it better to try to forget them ? " 
 
 " Women, I suppose ? — You say you haven't seen Rolfe. Has 
 Ae heard this talk about you, do you think .' " 
 
 " No doubt," she answered distantly. " Isn't he coming to see 
 you ? " 
 
 " If he saw that in the papers, he won't think I am here. But 
 I should like to see him. I've a good mind to telegraph — but I 
 don't know his address. Yes — I forgot — there's a letter from him 
 somewhere." 
 
 " I know the address," said Sibyl, in the same tone of reserve. 
 
 " I should like to see old Rolfe — poor old Rolfe.'' 
 
 " Why do you pity him ? " 
 
 " Oh— only a way of speaking. You know the address, you 
 say? Has he written .' Has j^f written .' " 
 
 " Oh no ! " 
 
 " You haven't seen her ? " 
 
 Sibyl evaded the question. 
 
 " Doesn't it seem to you rather strange," she said, " that the 
 Rolfes should keep away from me — never call or write ? " 
 
 Hugh's lips were set. When she repeated her inquiry more 
 urgently, he gave a peevish answer. 
 
 " You cared very little about her at the last. And Rolfe — when 
 a man marries — . No, I won't see him just yet. I'll write to him 
 when we're away.'' 
 
 " It wouldn't astonish you " — Sibyl spoke in a thin voice, not 
 quite under her control — " if you heard that Mrs. Rolfe had done 
 her best and her worst against me ? " 
 
4o8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " She ? Against you ? " 
 
 " I don't know that it matters. You said ' poor Rolfe.' I 
 should fancy he is poor, in every sense. As I have said so much, 
 it's better to let you know all ; it will show you that I am not ex- 
 aggerating what I have gone through. People knew, of course, 
 that she had called herself a friend of mine ; and just then she 
 came into notice — just enough to give her opportunities of being 
 dangerous. Well, I heard before long that she was slandering 
 me to all her acquaintances. Oh, j-/^^ knew all about me ! It was 
 lucky for me I had a credulous husband. And it still goes on. 
 She came here not long ago ; yes, she came. She told me that 
 she knew I was afraid of her, and she threatened me." 
 
 Hugh sat staring like a paralytic. 
 
 "She? Rolfe 's wife did this .' " 
 
 " Her motive, I don't know. Pure hatred, it seemed. But I've 
 had a strange fancy. She talked about a woman I used to know 
 very slightly, a Mrs. Strangeways, and seemed to be in fear of her ; 
 she said that woman and I were circulating stories about her. 
 And I have wondered — . Why are you looking like that ? " 
 
 " She must be mad. — I'll tell you. I only wish I had told you 
 before. She was there that night — at Redgrave's. But for her 
 it would never have happened. I saw him standing with her, by 
 the window of his room — that is, I saw a woman, but it wasn't 
 light enough to know her ; and ail at once she ran back, through 
 the open French windows into the house ; and then — and when I 
 rushed in and found her there — it was Rolfe's wife." 
 
 " Why did you keep this from me ? " 
 
 " She implored me — vowed there was nothing wrong — cried and 
 begged. And I thought of Rolfe. I see now that I ought to have 
 told him. The woman must be crazy to have behaved like this to 
 you." 
 
 Sibyl's face shone. 
 
 " Now I understand. This explains her. Oh, my dear, foolish 
 husband ! After all, you did not tell the whole truth. To spare 
 your friend's feelings, you risked your wife's reputation. And I 
 have been at the mercy of that woman's malice ! Don't you 
 think, Hugh, that I have had to bear a little more than I deserved ? 
 Your distrust and what came of it — I have long forgiven you all 
 that. But this — wasn't it rather too hard upon me ? " 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 409 
 
 He flinched under her soft reproach. 
 
 " I couldn't be sure, Sibyl. Perhaps it was true— perhaps she 
 was only there " 
 
 A flash of scorn from her eyes struck him into silence. 
 
 " Perhaps ? And perhaps she meant no harm in lying about 
 me ! You will send at once for Rolfe and tell him." 
 
 Hugh moved from her, and stood with his face averted. 
 
 " Can you hesitate for a moment ? " she asked severely. 
 
 " Why need I tell Rolfe ? Send for Aer, and say what you like. 
 Won't that be enough? It's awful to think 'of telling Rolfe. 
 Don't ask me to do that, Sibyl." 
 
 He approached her, voice and attitude broken to humility. 
 Sibyl grew only more resolute. 
 
 " You must tell him. Don't you owe it me? " 
 
 " By God, I can't do that ! — I can't do that ! Have her here, 
 before us both. Shame her and threaten her as much as you 
 like ; but don't tell Rolfe. It's like you and me, Sibyl. Suppose 
 she has really done no wrong, and we put that thought into his 
 mind ? " 
 
 " Have you lost all your senses ? " she exclaimed passionately. 
 "Must I keep reminding you what she has done to 7ne? Is a 
 woman that will behave in that way likely to be innocent ? Is her 
 husband to be kept in the dark about her, deceived, cheated ? I 
 can't understand you. If you are too cowardly to do your plain 
 duty — . Hugh, how am I talking ? You make me forget myself. 
 But you know that it's impossible to spare your friend. It 
 wouldn't be just to him. Here's a form ; write the telegram at 
 once." 
 
 " Write it yourself," he answered, in a low, nerveless voice, 
 moving away again. 
 
 It was quickly done, though Sibyl paused to reflect after the 
 first word or two. The message ran thus — 
 
 " I want to see you and Mrs. Rolfe before going away. Please 
 both come this evening if possible. If you cannot, reply when." 
 
 Without showing what she had written, she left thejoom, and 
 despatched a servant to the post-office. 
 
4IO THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 CHAPTER Xn 
 
 As a last resource against Cecil Morphew's degeneration, Har- 
 vey had given up his daily work in Westminster Bridge Road. 
 " I shall go no more," he wrote. " I am quite unable to manage 
 the business alone, and if you won't attend to it, it must smash. 
 But please to remember that I took a share on certain conditions." 
 For a week he had stayed at home. Morphevv did not reply, but 
 the fact that no appeals arrived from the trusty shopman seemed 
 to prove that this last step had been effectual. This morning 
 Rolfe was half-minded to go up to town, but decided that he had 
 better not. Thus the telegram from Oxford and Cambridge 
 Mansions came into his hands at about twelve o'clock. 
 
 Alma, after giving Hughie his morning's lesson, had gone out 
 with him for an hour. As soon as she returned, Harvey showed 
 her the message. 
 
 " Why does he want both of us to go ? " he asked uneasily. 
 
 Alma merely shook her head, as if the matter interested her 
 very little, and turned to leave the room again. 
 
 " I think I had better go alone," said Harvey, his eyes on the 
 telegram. 
 
 " Just as you like," answered Alma, and withdrew. 
 
 She spent the afternoon much as usual. Rolfe had said at 
 lunch that he would go to Carnaby's immediately after dinner. 
 Mrs. Langland and one of her daughters called ; they thought 
 Mrs. Rolfe rather absent-minded, but noticed nothing else. At 
 dinner-time she said carelessly to her husband — 
 
 " I think I had better go with you, as I was asked." 
 
 " No, no ; I think not." 
 
 " I had rather, H[arvey, if you don't mind. I am quite ready ; 
 shall only have to put my hat on." 
 
 He made no further objection, but looked a little displeased, and 
 was silent through the meal. 
 
 They travelled by rail to Edgware Road, exchanging scarce a 
 word on the way. On the stairs of the Mansions, Alma found the 
 ascent too much for her ; she stopped, and put out a hand to 
 support herself. Rolfe looked round. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 411 
 
 " Nothing. You have made me walk rather quickly." 
 
 " I'm sorry. Rest a moment." 
 
 But Alma hastened upwards. 
 
 They were shown at once into the drawing-room, where Mrs. 
 Carnaby, who was sitting alone, rose at the announcement of their 
 names. Alma stepped forward, and seemed about to offer her 
 hand, but she was disregarded. Their hostess stood with her 
 eyes on Rolfe, who, observing the strangeness of this reception, 
 bowed and said nothing. 
 
 " It was I who sent the telegram, Mr. Rolfe." Sibyl's voice had 
 its wonted refinement, and hardly disturbed the silence. " My 
 husband would have postponed the pleasure of seeing you, but I 
 thought it better you should meet him at once." Her finger 
 touched an electric bell. " And I particCilarly wished Mrs. Rolfe 
 to be with you ; I am so glad she was able to come. Pray sit 
 down." 
 
 Harvey, with no thought of accepting this invitation, cast stern 
 glances at the speaker and at his wife. 
 
 " What does all this mean, Mrs. Carnaby ? " 
 
 " Your old friend will tell you." 
 
 The door had opened, and Hugh Carnaby slouched in. At the 
 sight of Alma he stood still. Then meeting Harvey's eyes, he ex- 
 claimed, with hoarse indistinctness, " Rolfe ! " Each advanced, 
 and their hands clasped. 
 
 " Rolfe I — old fellow ! — I'm the most miserable devil on earth." 
 
 Tears were in his eyes and in his voice. He held Harvey's hand 
 tight prisoned in both his own, and stood tottering like a feeble 
 old man. 
 
 " Old friend, I can't help myself — don't feel h^d against me — I 
 have to tell you something." 
 
 He looked towards Alma, who was motionless. Sibyl had sat 
 down, and watched as at a play, but with no smile. 
 
 " Come into the next room with me," added the choking voice. 
 
 " No. Here, if you please, Hugh," sounded with gentle firm- 
 ness. 
 
 " Sibyl — then tell it. I can't." 
 
 " It's a simple story, Mr. Rolfe," began Sibyl. " I am sure you 
 are not aware that Mrs. Rolfe, ever since our great misfortune, 
 has lost no opportunity of slandering me. She has told people, in 
 
412 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 plain words, that she knew me to be guilty of what my husband 
 was for a moment trapped into suspecting. Among others, she 
 told it to her friend Miss Leach. Not long ago, she went so far 
 as to call upon me here and accuse me to my face, telling me I 
 was afraid of what she knew against me. I have thought of tak- 
 ing legal measures to protect myself ; perhaps I shall still do so. 
 To-day something has come to my knowledge which possibly ex- 
 plains Airs. Rolfe's singular malice. My husband tells me — and it's 
 a sad pity he kept it a secret so long — that there was a third per- 
 son present that evening when he came upon Mr. Redgrave. I 
 dare say you remember the details of the story told in court. All 
 was perfectly true ; but my husband should have added that a 
 woman was with Mr. Redgrave, talking alone with him in the 
 dark ; and when the blow had been struck, this woman, who had 
 quickly disappeared from the veranda into the house, was found 
 to be Mrs. Rolfe. 
 
 Hugh's hand had fallen onto his friend's shoulder. He spoke 
 as soon as Sibyl ceased. 
 
 " She said she had done no wrong. I had no proof of any — no 
 proof whatever." 
 
 Rolfe was looling at Alma. She, through the unimpassioned 
 arraignment, stood with eyes fixed upon her enemy, rather as if 
 lost in thought than listening ; her mouth was tortured into a 
 smile, her forehead had the lines of age and misery. At the 
 sound of Hugh's voice, she turned to him, and spoke like one re- 
 covering consciousness. 
 
 "You have told the truth." 
 
 " Why did you compel me to make this known, Mrs. Rolfe ? " 
 
 " Oh, that's quite a mistake. It was she who made you tell it 
 — as she will mjSfe you do anything, and believe anything, she 
 likes. I can imagine how delighted she was. But it doesn't 
 matter. If you care to know it, either of you" — she included 
 Carnaby and her husband in one glance, as equally remote from 
 her — " I haven't gone about seeking to injure her. Perhaps I let 
 one or two people know what I thought ; but they had heard the 
 truth already. It wasn't prudent ; and it wasn't a right return for 
 the kindness you had shown me, Mr. Carnaby. But I'm not sure 
 that I should have done better in helping to deceive you. Has she 
 anything more to say.' If not, I will leave you to talk about it." 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 413 
 
 The tone of this speech, so indifferent that it seemed light- 
 headed, strucli the hearers mute. Rolfe, speaking for the first time 
 since Hugh's entrance, said at length, with troubled sternness— 
 
 '• Alma, you have repeated your charge against Mrs. Carnaby ; 
 what grounds have you for it ? " 
 
 She looked at him with a vague smile, but did not answer. 
 
 " Surely you don't make an accusation of this kind without some 
 proof ? " 
 
 "Harvey!" The cry quivered on a laugh. "O Harvey! who 
 would know you with that face .' " 
 
 Sibyl rose. The men exchanged a quick glance. Rolfe moved 
 to his wife's side, and touched her. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know,'' she went on, drawing away — " I know 
 what you asked me. Keep quiet, just a little. There are three 
 of you, and it's hard for me alone. It isn't so easy to make yon 
 believe things, Harvey. Of course, I knew how it would be if 
 this came out. I can tell you, but not now ; some other time, 
 when we are alone. You won't believe me ; I always knew I 
 shouldn't be believed. I ought to have been cautious, and have 
 kept friends with her. But it wasn't as if I had anything to hide 
 — anything that mattered. Let me go, and leave you three to 
 talk. And when you come home " 
 
 Turning, looking for the door, she fell softly on to her knees. 
 In a moment Harvey had raised her, and seated her in the chair 
 which Hugh pushed forward. Sibyl, motionless, looked on. See- 
 ing that Alma had not lost consciousness, she awaited her next 
 word. 
 
 " We will go away,'' said Hugh, under his breath ; and he beck- 
 oned to Sibyl. Reluctantly she took a step towards him, but was 
 stopped by Alma's voice. 
 
 " Don't go on my account. Haven't you any question to ask 
 me ? When I go, I shan't be anxious to see you again. Don't 
 look frightened ; I know what I am talking about. My head went 
 round for a moment— and no wonder. Stand there, face to face. 
 — Leave me alone, Harvey ; I can stand very well. I want her to 
 ask me anything she has to ask. It's her only chance, now. I 
 won't see her again — never after this." 
 
 " Mrs. Carnaby,'' said Rolfe, " there must be an end of it. You 
 had better ask Alma what she has against you." 
 
414 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Sibyl, summoning all her cold dignity, stood before the half- 
 distraught woman, and looked her in the eyes . 
 
 " What harm or wrong have I done you, Mrs. Rolfe, that you 
 hate me so ? " 
 
 " None that I know of, until you brought me here to-day.'' 
 
 " But you have said that you think me no better than a guilty 
 hypocrite,- and isn't it natural that I should defend myself ? " 
 
 " Quite natural. You have done it very cleverly till now, and 
 perhaps you will to the end. I feel sure there is no evidence 
 against you, except the word of the woman who told your husband ; 
 and even if she comes forward, you have only to deny, and keep on 
 denying." 
 
 " Then why do you believe that woman rather than me .' " 
 
 Alma answered only with a frivolous laugh. Sibyl, turning her 
 head, looked an appeal to the listeners. 
 
 " Mrs. Rolfe," said Hugh, in a rough, imploring voice, " have 
 you no other answer ? You can't ruin people's Uves like this, as 
 if it were sport to you." 
 
 Alma gazed at him, as if she had but just observed his face. 
 
 " You have gone through dreadful things," she said earnestly. 
 " I'm sorry to cause you more trouble, but the fault is hers. She 
 got that secret from you, and it delighted her. Go on believing 
 what she says ; it's the best way when all's over and done with. 
 You can never know as / do.'' 
 
 She laughed again, a little spurt of joylefes merriment. Upon 
 that, in the same moment, followed a loud hysterical cry ; then 
 sobs and wailing, with movements as if to tear open the clothing 
 that choked her. Sibyl hastened away, and returned with her 
 vinaigrette, which she handed to Rolfe. But already the crisis 
 was over. Alma lay back in a chair, sobbing quietly, with head 
 bent aside. 
 
 Carnaby and his wife, after an exchange of signals, silently left 
 the room. Rolfe paced backwards and forwards for a minute or 
 two, until he heard his name spoken ; then he drew near, and 
 Alma looked at him with her own eyes once more. 
 
 " I won't go back home unless you wish, Harvey." 
 
 " Do you feel able to go ? " 
 
 " If you wish me. If not, I'll go somewhere else." 
 
 He sat down by her. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 415 
 
 " Are you yourself, Alma ? Do you know what you are say- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Yes— indeed I do. I know I lost myself; my head went 
 round ; but I am well again now." 
 
 " Then tell me in a word— is there any reason why you should 
 not go home with me ? " 
 
 " What's the use ? You won't believe me. You can't believe 
 me ! " 
 
 He grasped her hand, and spoke imperatively but not unkindly. 
 
 " Stop that ! Answer me, and I will believe what you say." 
 
 " There is no reason. I have done no wrong." 
 
 " Then come, if you feel able to." 
 
 She rose without help, and walked to a mirror, at which she 
 arranged her dress. Harvey opened the door, and found all quiet. 
 He led her through the passage, out into the common staircase, 
 and down into the street. Here she whispered to him that a 
 faintness was upon her ; it would pass if she could have some 
 restorative. They found a four-wheeled cab, and drove to a 
 public-house, where Rolfe obtained brandy and brought it out to 
 her. Then, wishing to avoid the railway station until Alma had 
 recovered her strength, he bade the cabman drive on to Notting 
 Hill Gate. 
 
 " May I sit at your side ? " she asked, bending towards him in 
 the darkness, when they had been silent for a few minutes. 
 
 Harvey replied by changing his own -place. 
 
 " I want to tell you," she resumed, her face near to his. " I 
 can't wait, and know you are thinking about me. There isn't 
 much to tell. Are you sure you can believe me .' " 
 
 " I have promised that I will." 
 
 " I don't ask you to be kind or to love me. You will never love 
 me again. Only believe that I tell the truth, that's all. I am not 
 hke that woman." 
 
 " Tell me," he urged impatiently. 
 
 " I wanted to make use of Mr. Redgrave — to use his influence 
 with people in society, so that I could have a great success. I 
 knew he wasn't to be trusted, but I had no fear ; I could trust 
 myself. I never said or did anything — it was only meeting him at 
 people's houses and at concerts, and telling him what I hoped for. 
 You [couldn't take any interest in my music, and you had no faith 
 
4i6 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 in my power to make a success. I wanted to show you that you 
 were wrong." 
 
 " I was wrong in more ways than'one," said Harvey. 
 
 " You couldn't help it. If you had tried to make me go another 
 way, it would only have led to unhappiness. At that time I was 
 mad to make.my name known, and, though I loved you, I believe 
 I could have left you rather than give up my ambition. Mr. Red- 
 grave used to invite people to his house in the summer to after- 
 noon tea, and I went there once with a lady. Other people as 
 well — a lot of other people. That's how I knew the] house. I 
 was never there alone until that last evening. — Don't shrink away 
 from me ! '' 
 
 " I didn't. Go on, and be quick.'' 
 
 " I suspected Sibyl from the moment you told me about her 
 husband and Mr. Redgrave. You did, too, Harvey." 
 
 " Leave her aside." 
 
 " But it was because of her. I saw she was getting to dislike 
 me, and I thought she knew Mr. Redgrave was doing his best for 
 me, and that she was jealous, and would prevent him — do you 
 understand ? He was my friend, nothing else ; but she would 
 never believe that. And a few days before my recital he seemed 
 to lose interest, and I thought it was her doing. Can you under- 
 stand how I felt 1 Not jealousy, for I never even liked him. I 
 was living only for the hope of success. Do you believe me, 
 Harvey ? " 
 
 " Easily enough.'' 
 
 Thereupon she related truly, without omission, the train of cir- 
 cumstances that brought her to Wimbledon on the fatal night, and 
 all that happened until she fled away into the darkness. 
 
 " It would be silly to say I oughtn't to have gone there. Of 
 course, I knew all I was risking ; but I felt I could give my life to 
 detect that woman and have her in my power." 
 
 " It's just that I don't understand. If it had been ordinary jea- 
 lousy — why, of course " 
 
 " Men never can understand why women hate each other. She 
 thought herself so superior to me, and showed it in every look and 
 word ; and all the time I knew she was a wicked hypocrite." 
 
 " How did you know that.' " Rolfe broke in vehemently, staring 
 into her white face as a ray from the street illumined it. 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 417 
 
 " Oh, I can't tell you ! " she replied, in a moaning, quivei^ng 
 voice. " I knew it — I knew it — something told me. But I don't 
 ask you to believe that. Only about myself — can you believe about 
 myself ? " 
 
 He replied mechanically, " Yes." Alma, with a sigh as much of 
 hopelessness as of relief, lay back and said no more. 
 
 At Notting Hill Gate they waited for a train. Alma wandered 
 about the platform, her head bent, silent and heeding nothing. In 
 the railway carriage she closed her eyes, and Harvey had to draw 
 her attention when it was time to alight. On entering the house 
 she went at jOnce upstairs. Harvey loitered about below, and 
 presently sat down in the study, leaving the door ajar. 
 
 He was trying to persuade himself that nothing of much mo- 
 ment had come to pass. A doubt troubled him ; most likely it 
 would trouble him for the rest of his life ; but he must heed it as 
 little as possible. What other course was open to a sensible man ? 
 To rave and swear in the high tragic style would avail nothing, one 
 way or the other ; and the fact was — whatever its explanation — 
 that he felt no prompting to such violence. Two years had 
 passed ; the man was dead ; Alma had changed greatly, and was 
 looking to a new life in new conditions. His worst uneasiness 
 arose from the hysteria which had so alarmingly declared itself 
 this evening. He thought of Bennet Frothingham, and at length 
 rose from his chair, meaning to go upstairs. But just then a step 
 sounded in the hall ; his door was pushed open, and Alma showed 
 herself. 
 
 " May I come," she asked, looking at hi^n steadily. 
 
 He beckoned with his head. She closed the door, and came 
 slowly forward, stopping at a few paces from him. 
 
 " Harvey " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I want you to decide to-night. If you think it would be better 
 for both of us, let me go. I shouldn't part from you unkindly ; I 
 don't mean that. I should ask you to let me have money as long 
 as I needed it. But you know that I could support myself very 
 soon. If you think it better, do say so, and we'll talk about it as 
 friends." 
 
 " I don't think anything of the kind. I shouldn't let you go, say 
 what you might." 
 
4i8 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " You wouldn't ? But if you find that you can't believe me " 
 
 " It would make no difference, even that. But I do believe you." 
 
 She drew nearer, looking wistfully into his face. 
 
 " But she has made her husband believe her. You will always 
 think of that — always." 
 
 " You must remember, Alma, that I have no serious reason for 
 doubting her word." 
 
 She uttered a cry of distress. 
 
 " Then you doubt mine ! — you doubt mine ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, dear. Do try to think and talk more reasonably. 
 What is it to you and me whether she was guilty or not .' I may 
 doubt your judgment about her, and yet believe perfectly all you 
 tell me about yourself." 
 
 " Then you think I have slandered her ? " 
 
 " There's no earthly use in talking about it. You can give no 
 reasons ; you have no reasons. Your suspicion may be right or 
 wrong ; I don't care the toss of a button. All I know is, that we 
 mustn't talk of it. Sit down and be quiet for a little. Oughtn't 
 you to eat something before you go up ? " 
 
 Alma put her hands upon his shoulders, bending her face so as 
 to hide it from him. 
 
 " Dear — if you could just say that you believe me ; not about 
 myself — I know you do — but about her. Could you say that ? " 
 
 He hesitated, all a man's common-sense in revolt against the 
 entreaty ; but he saw her quiver with a sob, and yielded. 
 
 " Very well, I will believe that too." 
 
 Her touch . became an embrace, gentle and timid ; she threw 
 her head back, gazing at him in rapture. 
 
 " You will never again doubt it ? " 
 
 " Never again." 
 
 " Oh, you are good ! — you are kind to me, dear ! And will 'you 
 love me a little ? Do you think you can, just a little ? " 
 
 His answer satisfied her, and she lay in his arms, shedding tears 
 of contentment. Then, for a long time, she talked of the new 
 life before them. She would be everything he wished ; no mo- 
 ment's trouble should ever again come between him and her. 
 Nothing now had any charm for her but the. still, happy life of 
 home ; her ambitions were all dead and buried. And Harvey 
 answered her with tenderness ; forgetting the doubt, refusing to 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 419, 
 
 look forward, knowing only that Alma had a place for ever in his 
 heart. 
 
 To-night she must sleep. Whilst undressing she measured the 
 familiar draught of oblivion, and said to herself: "The last 
 time." She lay down in darkness, closed her eyes, and tried to 
 think only of happy things. But sleep would not come, and quiet 
 thoughts would not linger with her. More than an hour must 
 have passed, when she heard Harvey come upstairs. His step 
 paused near her door, and she raised herself, listening. He went 
 on, and his own door closed. 
 
 Then, for a short time, she lost herself, but in no placid slum- 
 ber. Startled to wakefulness, she found that she had left her bed 
 and was sitting on the chair beside it. She felt for the matches, 
 and lit a candle. A great anguish of mind came upon her, but 
 she could not shed tears ; she wished to escape from her room to 
 Harvey's, but durst not look out into the dark passage. 
 
 When her heart grew quieter, she went again to the drawer in 
 which she kept her remedy for insomnia. Saying to herself, " The 
 last ^time — I shall be iwell 'again after to-morrow," she measured 
 another dose, a larger, and drank it off. Trembling now with 
 cold, she crept into bed again, and lay watching the candle-flame. 
 
 Half-an-hour after this — it was about two o'clock — the handle 
 of her door was turned, and Rolfe quietly looked in. He had 
 awoke with an anxious feeling ; it seemed to him that he heard 
 Alma's voice, on the borderland of dream, calling his name. But 
 Alma lay asleep, breathing steadily, her face turned from the 
 light. As the candle had nearly burnt down, he blew it out, and 
 went back to his bed. 
 
 At breakfast time Alma did not appear. The housemaid said 
 that, half-an-hour ago, she was still sleeping. When he had had 
 his meal with Hughie, Rolfe went up and entered his wife's room. 
 Alma lay just as he had seen her in the night. He looked close — 
 laid his hand upon her 
 
 A violent ringing of the bedroom bell brought up the servant. 
 Harvey met her at the door, and bade her run instantly to the 
 doctor's house, which was quite near. 
 
 The doctor could only say, " We warned her.'' 
 
420 THE WHIRIiPOOL 
 
 CHAPTER Xni 
 
 Sicut uinbra praterit dies. 
 
 The dial on the front of the old house was just shadowing four 
 o'clock. Harvey Rolfe and his friend Morton sat on the lawn, 
 Harvey reading aloud from a small volume which he had slipped 
 into his pocket before walking over this afternoon. From another 
 part of the garden sounded young voices, musical in their merri- 
 ment. 
 
 It was a little book called " Barrack-Room Ballads." Harvey 
 read in it here and there, with no stinted expression of delight, 
 occasionally shouting his appreciation. Morton, pipe in mouth, 
 listened with a smile, and joined more moderately in the reader's 
 bursts of enthusiasm. 
 
 " Here's the strong man made articulate,'' cried Rolfe at length. 
 " It's no use ; he stamps down one's prejudice — what ? It's the 
 voice of the reaction. Millions of men, natural men, revolting 
 against the softness and sweetness of civilisation ; men all over 
 the world'; hardly knowing what they want and what they don't 
 want ; and here comes one who speaks for them — speaks with a 
 vengeance." 
 
 " Undeniable." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I was waiting for the but," said Morton, with a smile and a 
 nod. 
 
 " The brute savagery of it ! The very lingo — how appropriate 
 it is ! The tongue of Whitechapel blaring lust of life in the track 
 of English guns ! — He knows it ; the man is a great artist ; he 
 smiles at the voice of his genius. — It's a long time since the end 
 of the Napoleonic wars. Since then Europe has .seen only sput- 
 terings of temper. Mankind won't stand it much longer, this en- 
 croachment of the humane spirit. See the spread of athletics. 
 We must look to our physique, and make ourselves ready. Those : 
 Lancashire operatives, laming and killing each other at football, 
 turning a game into a battle. For the milder of us there's golf — 
 an epidemic. Women turn to cricket — tennis is too soft — and to- ■ 
 morrow they'll be bicycling by the thousand ; — they must breed a 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 421 
 
 stouter race. We may reasonably hope, old man, to see our boys 
 blown iflto small bits by the explosive that hasn't got it's name 
 yet." 
 
 " Perhaps," repUed Morton meditatively. '■ And yet there are 
 considerable forces on the other side.'' 
 
 " Pooh ! The philosopher sitting on the safety-valve. He has 
 breadth of beam, good sedentary man, but when the moment 
 comes — . The Empire ; that's beginning to mean something. 
 The average Englander has never grasped the fact that there was 
 such a thing as a British Empire. He's beginning to learn it, and 
 itches to kick somebody, to prove his Imperialism. The bully of 
 the music-hall shouting ' Jingo ' had his special audience. Now 
 comes a man of genius, and decent folk don't feel ashamed to listen 
 this time. We begin to feel our position. We can't make money 
 quite so easily as we used to ; scoundrels in [Germany and else- 
 where have dared to learn the trick of commerce. We feel sore, 
 and it's a great relief to have our advantages pointed out to us. 
 By God ! we are the British Empire, and we'll just show 'em 
 what thnt means ! " 
 
 " I'm reading the campaigns of Belisarius," said Morton, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " What has that to do with it ? " 
 
 " Thank heaven, nothing whatever." 
 
 " I bore you," said Harvey, laughing. " Well, I read little or 
 nothing, except what I can use for Hughie. We're doing the 
 geography of Asia, and I try to give him a few clear notions. Do 
 you remember the idiotic way in which they used to teach us 
 geography!.' I loathed the lesson. — That reminds me ; Henrietta 
 Winter is dead." 
 
 " Is she ? How did it remind you ? " 
 
 " Why, because Morphew is going to New Zealand. I had a 
 letter from him this morning. Here it is. ' I heard yesterday 
 that H. W. is dead. She died a fortnight ago, and a letter from 
 her mother has only just reached me in a roundabout way. She 
 had been ailing for some time. They suspected drains, and had 
 workmen in, with assurance that all had been put right. Since 
 H.'s death the drains have again been examined, and it was found 
 that the men who came before so bungled and scamped their work 
 that an abominable state of things was made much worse.' — 
 
422 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 Those fellows will shout nobly for the Empire one of these days I 
 — ' I never saw her, but she spoke of me just before the end ; 
 spoke very kindly, says her mother. Damnation ! I can write no 
 more about it. I know you don't care to hear from me, but I'll just 
 say that I'm going out to New Zealand. I don't know what I shall 
 do there, but a fellow has asked me to go with him, and it's better 
 than rotting here. It may help me to escape the devil yet ; if so, 
 you shall hear. Good-bye ! ' " 
 
 He thrust the letter back into his pocket. 
 
 " I rather thought the end would be pyrogallic acid." 
 
 " He has the good sense to prefer ozone," said IVIorton. 
 
 " For a time, at all events. — Look behind you. The young ras- 
 cal is creeping this way. He'd rather sit and listen to our talk 
 than be with the other youngsters. That's wrong, you know.'' 
 
 Morton looked round, and saw Hugh Rolfe. Seven years old 
 now ; slight, and with little or no colour in his cheeks ; a wistful, 
 timid smile on the too intelligent face. He vv-as gazing towards 
 his. father, and evidently wished to draw near, yet feared that his 
 presence might not be welcome. Morton beckoned him, and at 
 once he ran and threw himself upon the grass by his father's 
 side. 
 
 " Tired; of playing ? " asked Harvey, with voice and look which 
 betrayed a tenderness he was always trying to conceal. 
 
 " A little tired. We are going to have tea soon. — May I look 
 at this book, father ? " 
 
 " No pictures." 
 
 " 1 don't mind. — Yes, there's a picture ; a soldier ! " 
 
 Interest quickened in the boy's eyes, and he turned eagerly 
 from title-page to text. But just then there came a loud calling 
 of his name from the other end of the garden. 
 
 " They want you," said Harvey. " Off you go. You can have 
 the book another time." 
 
 Hughie obeyed without hesitation, but his face had a weary 
 look as he walked away to join the other children. 
 
 " I must send him to the Grammar School next^year," said 
 Rolfe. " It won't do ; he must be among boys, and learn to be 
 noisy. Perhaps I have been altogether wrong in teaching him 
 myself. What right has a man to teach, who can't make up his, 
 mind on any subject of thought ? Of course I don't talk to /u'm 
 
THE WHIRLPOOL 423 
 
 about my waverings and doublings, but probably they affect 
 liim." 
 
 " Don't bother your head so much about it," replied Morton. 
 " He'll be all right as he grows stronger." 
 
 A servant had brought out two little tables ; tea was going to 
 be served in the garden. When it was ready, Mrs. Morton ap- 
 peared ; the men rose as she came towards them, a newspaper in 
 her hand. 
 
 " Have you noticed this ? " she asked of Rolfe, with a smile, 
 pointing out a paragraph to him. 
 
 He read it ; first to himself, then aloud. 
 
 " Yesterday, at Lady Isobel Barker's house in Pont Street, a 
 meeting was held of ladies interested in a project for the benefit 
 of working-class women in the West End. It is proposed to ar- 
 range for a series of lectures, specially adapted to such an audi- 
 ence, on subjects of literary and artistic interest. Unfortunately, 
 Lady Isobel herself was unable to take part in the proceedings, 
 owing, to sudden indisposition ; but her views were most sugges- 
 tively set forth by Mrs. Hugh Carnaby, who dwelt on the mono- 
 tony of the lives of decent working-class women, and showed how 
 much they would be benefited by being brought into touch with 
 the intellectual movements of the day. Practical details of the 
 scheme will shortly be made public." 
 
 Morton chuckled quietly. 
 
 " Splendid idea," said Rolfe. " Any one who knows anything 
 of the West End working-class woman will be sure to give it 
 warm support.'' 
 
 The tea-bell rang ; the children came running. Morton's eldest 
 boy, who had been busy in his workshop, exhibited a fine model 
 schooner, just finished. Presently, the hostess asked Rolfe 
 whether he had heard of late from Mr. Carnaby. 
 
 " A week ago ; the first time for a year. The demand for 
 shares in their company was tremendous, and they are turning out 
 the new bicycle at the rate of hundreds a week." 
 
 " Has he quite got over that illness ? " 
 
 " Says he suffers much from dyspepsia ; otherwise, fairly well. 
 The prospect of money-making on a great scale seems pleasant to 
 him." 
 
 " To Mrs. Carnaby, also, I dare say." 
 
424 THE WHIRLPOOL 
 
 " No doubt," replied Rolfe absently. 
 
 After tea, a trio of little singers, one of whom was Hughie^ gave ; 
 the songs they had newly learnt with Mrs. Morton, she accom- 
 panying them on the piano. Rolfe sat in a corner of the room 
 and listened, as always, with keen pleasure. 
 
 " One more," he asked, when they were about to cease. 
 
 They sang that which he liked best — 
 
 " Fear no more the heat o' the sun." 
 
 After it there came a minute's silence ; then Harvey rose. 
 " Say good-bye, Hughie ; we must be going home." 
 Hand in hand, each thinking his own thoughts, they walked 
 homeward through the evening sunshine. 
 
 THE END. 
 
The Heart of Princess Osra 
 
 By ANTHONY HOPE 
 
 Author of "Phfoso," "The Prisoner of Zenda," ''The 
 Dolly Dialogues," etc 
 
 THE SCENE OF THIS REMARKABLE STORY IS 
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 With numerous excellent full-page illustrations by 
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 One volume, i2mo, Yellow Holliston, or Antique 
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 1^* (5* (?• 
 
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 PUBLISHERS, 
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 One of the most original books by Mr. Barr is 
 
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 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
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 woman. 
 
 The book is beautifully illustrated, with twenty £ull-page half-tone engravings 
 after original designs by the English artist, Hal Hurst, whose style greatly resem- 
 bles that of C. D. Gibson, 
 isiino, linen, beautifully stamped with colored inks and silver, at $i.as. 
 
 ^^v ^^^ 9^^ 
 
 Other Works by Robert Barr: 
 IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS 
 
 THE FACE AND THE MASK 
 
 Each, I vol., i6mo, buckram, silver top, 75 cents. 
 
 ^^F ^£r^ M^^ 
 
 FREDEWCK A. STOKES COMPANY, Pablishers, 
 27 and 29, West 23d Street, New York. 
 
ZORAIDA. 
 
 By William Lk Queux, author of " The Great War in England 
 in 1897." A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara. 
 Full of stirring incidents. 
 
 ' ' The first line of this romance strikes its keynote. ' The adventure 
 was strange, the mystery inexplicable.' The book is full of adventure 
 from the first to the final chapter." — Western Daily Times. 
 
 " In fertility of imagination, vigor 0/ action, intensity 0/ passion, 
 and forceful description, it is one of the very best of the sensational 
 class of novels. . . Altogether it is a story to fascinate the interest of 
 the reader from start to finish." — The World. 
 
 " I took the book up in a perfunctory way, and in less than half 
 an hour found myself excited and in a pleasant way. . . It is a 
 breathless kind of a book, because you cannot lay it down, even when 
 the man says, ' Dinner is served.' . . It is pure fiction. . . If you 
 don't like pure fiction, you will be bored ; but if you do, you will be 
 delighted." — George H. Hepworth, in the Herald. 
 
 "A new light in romantic literature seems to have arisen in the 
 horizon in the person of William Le Queux. . . ' Zoraida ' is most 
 certainly a fascinating stoty, ivritten with fine dash and with a clear 
 idea of the value of incidents ." — Boston Traveller. 
 
 "While written with a scholarliness and research that make it 
 interesting to all who have traveled, or studied the great works of 
 travel, it will satisfy the greediest readers with its marvels and adven- 
 tures. " — London To-Day. 
 
 " The book is a masterly piece of fiction," — London People. 
 
 ' ' The best romance we have had for many a long day is Mr. Le 
 Queux's ' Zoraida.' . . The marvelously vivid local coloring Mr. 
 Le Queux got by perilous journeys in the Sahara, taken for the pur- 
 pose. . . The book is worthy of comparison with Rider Haggard's 
 great romances." — Douglas Sladen, in the London Literary World. 
 
 The first American edition was exhausted in ten days, and a new 
 one is now being printed. With 24 full-page illustrations of great 
 merit by Harold Piffard. i2mo, HoUiston cloth, stamped with gold, 
 silver, and colored inks. $1.50. 
 
 FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, OR 
 SENT POSTPAID. 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY, 
 
 27 & 29, West 23D Street, New York. 
 
Comments of the Press 
 
 ..ON.. 
 
 ••••**X/-L^««««t* 
 
 THE MASTER CRAFTSMAN 
 
 "Sir Walter Besant's new story is very romantic and wholesome." — 
 
 ATiw Haven Register, 
 
 " IT HAS THE BREEZINESS, THE WHOLESOME QUALITY AND THE EN- 
 TERTAINING IMPROBABILITY OF ALL SIR WALTER'S WORK, AND NEEDS 
 NO BETTER RECOMMENDATION." — T/ie Dial. 
 
 " Sir Walter Besant needs no assurance now of his literary talent, which 
 is perhaps as near genius as any that is called by that name. He has 
 written novel after novel that has called forth" praise from all classes and 
 all comers of tlie world. But I doubt whether he has ever given any- 
 thing more fascinating than this story of the rude boatfauilder with the 
 indomitable will who has made up his mind to get into Parliament and 
 then become Her Majesty's Secretary." — Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 "' THE MASTS X CRAFTSMAN' is as strong a novel as the decade 
 has produced." — Boston Courier. 
 
 ^' As a romance pure and simple^ 'The Master Guftsman ' is attract- 
 ive reading," — The Independent. 
 
 "no one of sir WALTER BESANT's WORKS EVER PLEASED US MORE 
 THAN ' THE MASTER CRAFTSMAN.' " — Pittsburg Christian Advocate. 
 
 ^N^ •>>