‘That’s a characteristic question, dear boy,’ Sibyl replied merrily.  ’There are more things in life —­ particularly woman’s life —­ than your philosophy ever dreamt of.  Alma has quite outgrown me, and I begin to suspect that she won’t honour me with her acquaintance much longer.’

‘Why?’

’For one thing, we belong to different worlds, don’t you see; and the difference, in future, will be rather considerable.’

’Well, I’m sorry.  Rolfe isn’t half the man he was.  Why on earth didn’t he stop it?  He hates it, anyone can see.  Why, if I were in his place ——­’

Sibyl interrupted with her mellow laughter.

’You wouldn’t be a bit wiser.  It’s the fate of men —­ except those who have the courage to beat their wives.  You know you came back to England at my heels when you didn’t want to.  Now, a little energy, a little practice with the horsewhip ——­’

Carnaby made pretence of laughing.  But he turned away his face; the jest had too serious an application.  Yes, yes, if he had disregarded Sibyl’s wishes, and stayed on the other side of the world!  It seemed to him strange that she could speak of the subject so lightly; he must have been more successful than he thought in concealing his true state of mind.

‘Rolfe tells me he has got a house at Gunnersbury.’

’Yes; he mentioned it to me.  Why Gunnersbury?  There must be some reason they don’t tell us.’

‘Ask his wife,’ said Hugh, impatiently.  ‘No doubt the choice is hers.’

‘No doubt.  But I don’t think,’ added Sibyl musingly, ’I shall ask Alma that or anything else.  I don’t think I care much for Alma in her new development.  For a time I shall try leaving her alone.’

‘Well, I’m sorry for poor old Rolfe,’ repeated Hugh.

CHAPTER 12

On Monday morning Hugh Carnaby received a letter from Mrs. Ascott Larkfield.  It was years since Sibyl’s mother had written to him, and the present missive, scrawled in an unsteady hand, gave him some concern.  Mrs. Larkfield wrote that she was very ill, so ill that she had abandoned hope of recovery.  She asked him whether, as her son-in-law, he thought it right that she should be abandoned to the care of strangers.  It was the natural result, no doubt, of her impoverished condition; such was the world; had she still been wealthy, her latter days would not have been condemned to solitude.  But let him remember that she still had in her disposal an income of about six hundred pounds, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have passed to Sibyl; by a will on the point of being executed, this money would benefit a charitable institution.  To him this might be a matter of indifference; she merely mentioned the fact to save Sibyl a possible disappointment.

Hugh and his wife, when both had read the letter, exchanged uneasy glances.

‘It isn’t the money,’ said Carnaby.  ’Hang the money!  But —­ after all, Sibyl, she’s your mother.’