‘What does it mean?’ she whispered.

‘Who can say?’

‘They must have quarrelled about business matters.’

‘Perhaps so.’

‘Do you think he —­ Mr. Carnaby —­ means to hide away —­ to escape?’

‘He won’t hide away,’ Harvey answered.  ‘Yet he may escape.’

‘What do you mean?  Go by ship? —­ get out of the country?’

’I don’t think so.  He is far more likely to be found somewhere —­ in a way that would save trouble.’

Alma flashed a look of intelligence.

‘You think so,’ she panted.  ‘You really think he has done that?’

‘I feel afraid of it.’

Alma recovered breath; and, but that her face was bent low over the newspaper, Harvey must have observed that the possibility of his friend’s suicide seemed rather to calm her agitation than to afflict her with fresh dismay.

But she could speak no more of her musical triumph.  With the colour of her cheeks she had lost all animation, all energy; she needed the support of Harvey’s arm in stepping to the railway carriage; and on her arrival at home, yielding, as it seemed, to physical exhaustion, she lay pallid, mute, and nerveless.

CHAPTER 15

At night she had recourse to the little bottle, but this time it was less efficacious.  Again and again she woke from terrifying dreams, wearied utterly, unable to rest, and longing for the dawn.  Soon after daybreak she arose and dressed; then, as there was yet no sound of movement in the house, she laid her aching head upon the pillow again, and once more fell into a troubled sleep.  The usual call aroused her; she went to the door and bade the servant bring her some tea and the morning paper as soon as it was delivered.

In a few minutes the tea and the newspaper were both brought.  First she glanced at the paragraphs relating to the Wimbledon tragedy; there was nothing added to yesterday’s news except that the inquest would be held this morning.  Then she looked eagerly for the report of her recital, and found it only after much searching, barely a dozen lines, which spoke of her as ‘a lady of some artistic promise’, said that much allowance must be made for her natural nervousness, and passed on to the other performers, who were unreservedly praised.  Anger and despondency struggled within her as she read the lines over and over again.  Nervous!  Why, the one marvellous thing was her absolute conquest of nervousness.  She saw the hand of an enemy.  Felix Dymes had warned her of the envy she must look for in certain quarters, and here appeared the first instance of it.  But the post would bring other papers.