Was it inconceivable?  Why should a woman of that age, and of so much experience, feel nervous about going alone to her friend’s house on such a simple mission?  It appeared odd at the time, and was more difficult to understand the more she thought of it.  And one heard such strange stories —­ in society of a certain kind —­ so many whispered hints of things that would not bear to be talked about.

Redgrave had not been in Paris, but at Coventry.  There again was a puzzling circumstance.  Harvey himself declared his surprise at hearing that Redgrave had entered into partnership with Hugh Carnaby.  Had Sibyl anything to do with this?  Could she have hinted to her friend the millionaire that her husband’s financial position was anything but satisfactory, and had Redgrave, out of pure friendship —­ of course, out of pure friendship —­ hastened to their succour?

This perplexity was almost as disturbing as that which preceded it.  Knowing the man of money as she did, Alma found it disagreeable to connect his name thus closely with Sibyl’s.  Disagreeable in a complicated sense; for she had begun to think of Cyrus Redgrave as intimately associated with her own ambitions, secret and avowed.  He was to aid her in winning fame as a violinist; and, to this end, all possible use (within certain limits) was to be made of the power she had over him.  Alma viewed the position without the least attempt at disguising its true nature.  She was playing with fire; knew it; enjoyed the excitement of it; trusted herself with the completest confidence to come out of the game unscorched.  But she felt assured that other women, in similar circumstances, had engaged in much the same encounter with Cyrus Redgrave; and could it be imagined that Sibyl Carnaby was one of them —­ Sibyl, the woman of culture, of high principle, the critic of society —­ Sibyl, to whom she had so long paid homage, as to one of the chosen of her sex?  That Redgrave might approach Sibyl with lawless thought, she could well believe, and such a possibility excited her indignation; that Sibyl would meet him on his own terms, she could not for a moment have credited, but for a traitor-voice that spoke in her for the first time, the voice of jealousy.

Where and how often did they meet?  To ask this question was to touch another motive of discontent.  Ever since the return to London life, Alma had felt dissatisfied with her social position.  She was the wife of a gentleman of independent means; in theory, all circles should be open to her.  Practically, she found herself very much restricted in the choice of acquaintances.  Harvey had hinted that she should be careful where she went, and whom she knew; that she recognised the justice of this warning served merely to irritate her against its necessity.  Why, then, did not her husband exert himself to obtain better society for her?  Plainly, he would never take a step in that direction; he had his two or three friends, and found them sufficient; he would have liked