‘And what does that mean?’ Sibyl returned coldly.  ’Shall I feel the least bit of sorrow if she dies?  Am I to play the hypocrite just because this woman brought me into the world?  We have always hated each other, and whose fault?  When I was a child, she left me to dirty-minded, thieving servants; they were my teachers, and it’s wonderful enough that —­ that nothing worse came of it.  When I grew up, she left me to do as I pleased —­ anything so that I gave her no trouble.  Do you wish me to go and pretend ——­’

’I tell you what —­ I’ll run down to Weymouth myself, shall I?  Perhaps I might arrange something —­ for her comfort, I mean.’

Sibyl carelessly assented.  Having business in town, Hugh could not start till afternoon, but he would reach Weymouth by half-past six, and might manage to be back again in time for Mrs. Rolfe’s concert tomorrow.

‘I shouldn’t put myself to any inconvenience on that account,’ said Sibyl, smiling.

‘Out of regard for Rolfe, that’s all.’

He left home at eleven, transacted his business, and at half-past one turned in for lunch at a Strand restaurant before proceeding to Waterloo.  As he entered, he saw Mrs. Rolfe, alone at one of the tables; she was drawing on her gloves, about to leave.  They met with friendly greeting, though Hugh, from the look with which Mrs. Rolfe recognised him, had a conviction that his growing dislike of her was fully reciprocated.  In the brief talk before Alma withdrew, he told her that he was going down into the country.

‘To Coventry?’ she asked, turning her eyes upon him.

’No; to Weymouth.  Mrs. Larkfield is no better, I’m afraid, and —­ Sibyl wants me to see her.’

‘Then you won’t be back ——­’

’For tomorrow? —­ oh yes, I shall certainly be back in time, unless anything very serious prevents me.  There’s a good train from Weymouth at 10.10 —­ gets in about half-past two.  I shall easily get to Prince’s Hall by three.’

Alma again regarded him, and seemed on the point of saying something, but she turned her head, rose, and rather hastily took leave.  Hugh remarked to himself that she looked even worse by daylight than in the evening; decidedly, she was making herself ill —­ perhaps, he added, the best thing that could happen.

For his luncheon he had small appetite.  The journey before him was a nuisance, and the meeting at the end of it more disagreeable than anything he had ever undertaken.  What a simple matter life would be, but for women!  That Sibyl should detest her mother was perhaps natural enough, all things considered; but he heartily wished they were on better terms.  He felt that Sibyl must have suffered in character, to some extent, by this abnormal antipathy.  He did not blame her; her self-defence this morning proved that she had ground for judging her mother sternly; and perhaps, as she declared, only by her own strength and goodness had she been saved from the worst results