She half turned.  Sibyl again took one step forward, and spoke with ever so little tremor in the even voice.

‘You have understood me, I hope?’

’Oh, quite.  You have shown plainly how —­ afraid you are.  Good morning, Mrs. Carnaby.’

Baker Street station being so near, Alma was tempted to go straightway and demand from the Leach sisters an explanation of what she had heard; they, too, seemed to be behaving treacherously.  But she was unwilling to miss the luncheon hour at home, for Hughie would speak of it to his father, and so oblige her to make false excuses.  Besides, she had suffered more than enough indignity (though not unavenged!), and it was better to summon the sisters to her presence.

On reaching home, she at once sent them an ordinary invitation, but of the briefest.  In the evening she received Dymes’s acknowledgment of the cheque.  Next day she wrote to him, a few formal lines, requesting that he would let her know Mrs. Strangeways’ address as soon as he had discovered it.

Dora Leach came to Gunnersbury alone.  She was in distress and worry, for her father had fallen ill again, and the doctors doubted whether he would ever be fit to resume work; it had just dawned upon Dora that the breadwinner of the family deserved rather more consideration than he had been wont to receive, and that his death might involve unpleasant consequences for those dependent upon him.  To Alma’s questioning she replied frankly and with self-reproach.  It was true that she had whispered her friend’s suspicions of Mrs. Carnaby, but only to one person, and in strictest confidence.  Neither she nor Gerda had met Mrs Carnaby, and how the whisper could have reached Sibyl’s ears was inconceivable to her.

‘It doesn’t matter in the least,’ said Alma, finally.  ’To tell you the truth, I’m not sorry.’

‘Why, that’s just what I thought!’ exclaimed Dora, with sudden clearing of her countenance.

In a fortnight or so there came a note from Dymes, written at Brussels.  He had ascertained that Mrs. Strangeways was somewhere on the Continent, but as yet he could not succeed in ‘running her down’.  Let Mrs. Rolfe depend upon his zeal in this search, as in any other matter in which he could be of use to her.  Unfortunately, this envelope came under Harvey’s eyes, and Alma, knowing he had seen it, felt obliged to speak.

‘Mr. Dymes refuses to believe that I shall never play again in public,’ she remarked, putting down his letter, as carelessly as possible, by her plate at breakfast.

‘Does he pester you?  If so, it might be better for me to ——­’

‘Oh dear, no!  I can manage my own correspondence, Harvey, thank you.’

Her tone of slight petulance was due to fear that he might ask to see the letter, and it had its effect.  But Alma’s heart sank at the deception, and her skill in practising it.  Was it impossible to become what she desired to be, an honest woman!  Only yesterday Harvey had spoken to her with vexation of a piece of untruthfulness in Hughie, and had begged her to keep a watch upon the child’s habit in this respect.  And she had promised, with much earnestness, much concern.