Dora and Gerda, having grown up in such domestic circumstances, 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 anyone 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 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; everyone 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 permissible 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 ‘Vuillaume’, 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.