By the evening’s post on the following day he
was surprised 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 to me. But I feel obliged
to say quite distinctly that I must manage my own
affairs. Pray excuse this freedom, and believe
me, yours truly,
He gasped, and with wide eyes read the missive again
and again. As soon as his nerves were quieted,
he sat down and replied 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
position 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 matter, I beg
you will take it into consideration. —
And I am, yours truly,
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 hotheaded 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, her eyes drew near
and gazed upon him — eyes gleaming with
mischief, 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 intellectual man at issue with the flesh
— he fell back upon the idealism which
