CHAPTER 9

On Monday morning, when Harvey and his friend had started for town, and Hughie was at school, Alma made ready to go out.  In many months she had been to London only two or three times.  Thus alone could she subdue herself.  She tried to forget all that lay eastward from Gunnersbury, rejecting every kind of town amusement, and finding society in a very small circle of acquaintances who lived almost as quietly as herself.  But this morning she yielded to the impulse made irresistible by Dymes’s visit.  In leaving the house, she seemed to escape from an atmosphere so still and heavy that it threatened her blood with stagnation; she breathed deeply of the free air, and hastened towards the railway as if she had some great pleasure before her.

But this mood had passed long before the end of her journey.  Alighting at Queen’s Road, she walked hurriedly to Porchester Terrace, and from the opposite side of the way had a view of Mrs. Strangeways’ house.  It was empty, to let.  She crossed, and rang the bell, on the chance that some caretaker might be within; but no one answered.  Her heart throbbing painfully, she went on a little distance, then stood irresolute.  A cab crawled by; she raised her hand, and gave the direction, ’Oxford and Cambridge Mansions’.  Once here, she had no difficulty in carrying out her purpose.  Passion came to her aid; and when Sibyl’s door opened she could hardly wait for an invitation before stepping in.

The drawing-room was changed; it had been refurnished, and looked even more luxurious than formerly.  For nearly ten minutes she had to stand waiting; seat herself she could not.  Then entered Sibyl.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe.  I am glad to see you.’

The latter sentence was spoken not as a mere phrase of courtesy, but with intention, with quiet yet unmistakable significance.  Sibyl did not offer her hand; she moved a chair so that its back was to the light, and sat down very much as she might have done if receiving an applicant for a ‘situation’.

‘You had some reason for coming so early?’

Alma, who had felt uncertain how this interview would begin, was glad that she had to meet no pretences of friendship.  Her heart burned within her; she was pallid, and her eyes shone fiercely.

’I came to ask if you could tell me where Mrs. Strangeways is to be found?’

‘Mrs. Strangeways?’ Sibyl repeated, with cold surprise.  ’I know nothing about her.’

Feeling in every way at a disadvantage —­ contrast of costume told in Sibyl’s favour, and it was enhanced by the perfection of her self-command —­ Alma could not maintain the mockery of politeness.

‘Of course, you say that,’ she rejoined haughtily; ’and, of course, I don’t believe it.’

‘That is nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,’ remarked the other, smiling.  ’Doubtless you have your own reasons for declining to believe me; just as you have your own reasons for —­ other things.  Your next inquiry?’