It 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 more space to her (though less than she had expected), and harmonised in their tone of compliment; one went so far as to congratulate 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 debut’ —­ ’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 —­ today or tomorrow —­ there’s no hurry ——­’

‘No hurry?’ said Rolfe, surprised by something in her tone.  ’What do you mean by that?’

‘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 today,’ 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.’