’So I am.  I should like to have the purchase of your chances for a trifle of a few thousand pounds.’

Alma’s flush of discomposure (more traitorous than she imagined) transformed itself under a gratified smile.

’You really think that I might do something worth the trouble? —­ I don’t mean money-making —­ though, of course, no one despises money —­ but a real artistic success?’

Sibyl made no half-hearted reply.  She seemed in thorough agreement with those other friends of Alma’s who had received the project enthusiastically.  A dozen tickets, at least a dozen, she would at once answer for.  But, as though an unwelcome word must needs mingle with her pleasantest talk today, she went on to speak of Alma’s husband; what did he think of the idea?

‘He looks on, that’s all,’ Alma replied playfully.  ’If I succeed, he will be pleased; if I don’t, he will have plenty of consolation to offer.  Harvey and I respect each other’s independence —­ the great secret of marriage, don’t you think?  We ask each other’s advice, and take it or not, as we choose.  I fancy he doesn’t quite like the thought of my playing for money.  But if it were necessary he would like it still less.  He finds consolation in the thought that I’m just amusing myself.’

‘I wish you would both come over and dine with us quietly,’ said Sibyl, after reflecting, with a smile.  ’It would do us all good.  I don’t see many people nowadays, and I’m getting rather tired of ordinary society; after all, it’s great waste of time.  I think Hugh is more inclined to settle down and be quiet among his friends.  What day would suit you?’

Alma, engrossed in other thoughts, named a day at random.  Part of her scheme was still undisclosed:  she had a special reason for wishing Sibyl to know of her relations with Felix Dymes, yet feared that she might not hit exactly the right tone in speaking of him.

’Of course, I must have a man of business —­ and who do you think has offered his services?’

Sibyl was not particularly impressed by the mention of Dymes’s name; she had only a slight personal acquaintance with him, and cared little for his reputation as a composer.

‘I had a note from him this morning,’ Alma continued.  ’He asks me to see him today at the Apollo —­ the theatre, you know.  They’re going to produce his comic opera, “Blue Roses” —­ of course, you’ve heard of it.  I shall feel rather nervous about going there —­ but it’ll be a new experience.  Or do you think it would be more discreet if I got him to come to Pinner?’

‘I didn’t think artists cared about those small proprieties,’ answered Sibyl, laughing.

’No —­ of course, that’s the right way to regard it.  Let me show you his letter.’  She took it from her little seal-skin bag.  ’A trifle impudent, don’t you think?  Mr. Dymes has a great opinion of himself, and absolutely no manners.’

‘Well —­ if you can keep him in hand ——­’