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 acquaintances 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 little distance,
then stood irresolute. A cab crawled by; she
raised her hand, and gave the direction, ’Oxford
and Cambridge Mansions’. Once here, she
had no difficulty in carrying out her purpose.
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 minutes 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 spoken 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 receiving
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, smiling. ’Doubtless you have
your own reasons for declining to believe me; just
as you have your own reasons for — other
things. Your next inquiry?’
