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 Wilenski and that of Alma Frothingham.  Her religion, forsooth!  Herr Wilenski, one might be sure, talked little enough about his ‘religion’.  What did Alma think as she listened?  Was she overcome by the 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, sauntering before the admirable pictures which hung here as a mere symbol 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 before 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 dullness and literalness which were wont to possess him in such company.