He made no further objection, but looked a little displeased, and was silent through the meal.

They travelled by rail to Edgware Road, exchanging scarce a word on the way.  On the stairs of the Mansions, Alma found the ascent too much for her; she stopped, and put out a hand to support herself.  Rolfe looked round.

‘Nothing.  You have made me walk rather quickly.’

‘I’m sorry.  Rest a moment.’

But Alma hastened upwards.

They were shown at once into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Carnaby, who was sitting alone, rose at the announcement of their names.  Alma stepped forwards, and seemed about to offer her hand, but she was disregarded.  Their hostess stood with her eyes on Rolfe, who, observing the strangeness of this reception, bowed and said nothing.

‘It was I who sent the telegram, Mr. Rolfe.’  Sibyl’s voice had its wonted refinement, and hardly disturbed the silence.  ’My husband would have postponed the pleasure of seeing you, but I thought it better you should meet him at once.’  Her finger touched an electric bell.  ’And I particularly wished Mrs. Rolfe to be with you; I am so glad she was able to come.  Pray sit down.’

Harvey, with no thought of accepting this invitation, cast stern glances at the speaker and at his wife.

‘What does all this mean, Mrs. Carnaby?’

‘Your old friend will tell you.’

The door had opened, and Hugh Carnaby slouched in.  At the sight of Alma he stood still.  Then meeting Harvey’s eyes, he exclaimed, with hoarse indistinctness, ‘Rolfe!’ Each advanced, and their hands clasped.

‘Rolfe! —­ old fellow! —­ I’m the most miserable devil on earth.’

Tears were in his eyes and in his voice.  He held Harvey’s hand tight prisoned in both his own, and stood tottering like a feeble old man.  ’Old friend, I can’t help myself —­ don’t feel hard against me —­ I have to tell you something.’

He looked towards Alma, who was motionless.  Sibyl had sat down, and watched as at a play, but with no smile.

‘Come into the next room with me,’ added the choking voice.

‘No.  Here, if you please, Hugh,’ sounded with gentle firmness.

‘Sibyl —­ then tell it.  I can’t.’

‘It’s a simple story, Mr. Rolfe,’ began Sibyl.  ’I am sure you are not aware that Mrs. Rolfe, ever since our great misfortune, has lost no opportunity of slandering me.  She has told people, in plain words, that she knew me to be guilty of what my husband was for a moment trapped into suspecting.  Among others, she told it to her friend Miss Leach.  Not long ago, she went so far as to call upon me here and accuse me to my face, telling me I was afraid of what she knew against me.  I have thought of taking legal measures to protect myself; perhaps I shall still do so.  Today something has come to my knowledge which possibly explains Mrs. Rolfe’s singular malice.  My husband tells me —­ and it’s a sad