‘Oh, I think not.  Warehouse it.’

Hugh would have rejoiced to turn every chair and table into hard cash, not only for the money’s sake, but for the sense of freedom that would follow; but he agreed, as always, to whatever his wife preferred.  They talked with unwonted animation.  A great atlas was opened, routes were fingered; half the earth’s circumference vanished in a twinkling.  Sibyl, hitherto mewed within the circle of European gaieties and relaxations, all at once let her fancy fly —­ tasted a new luxury in experiences from which she had shrunk.

’I’ll order my outfit tomorrow.  Very light things, I suppose?  Who could advise me about that?’

Among a number of notes and letters which she wrote next day was one to Miss Frothingham.  ‘Dear Alma,’ it began, and it ended with ’Yours affectionately’ —­ just as usual.

’Could you possibly come here some day this week?  I haven’t written before, and haven’t tried to see you, because I felt sure you would rather be left alone.  At the same time I feel sure that what has happened, though for a time it will sadden us both, cannot affect our friendship.  I want to see you, as we are going away very soon, first of all to Honolulu.  Appoint your own time; I will be here.’

By return of post came the black-edged answer, which began with ’Dearest Sibyl,’ and closed with ‘Ever affectionately’.

’I cannot tell you how relieved I am to get your kind letter.  These dreadful days have made me ill, and one thing that increased my misery was the fear that I should never hear from you again.  I should not have dared to write.  How noble you are! —­ but then I always knew that.  I cannot come tomorrow —­ you know why —­ but the next day I will be with you at three o’clock, if you don’t tell me that the hour is inconvenient.’

They met at the appointed time.  Mrs. Carnaby’s fine sense of the becoming declared itself in dark array; her voice was tenderly subdued; the pressure of her hand, the softly lingering touch of her lips, conveyed a sympathy which perfect taste would not allow to become demonstrative.  Alma could at first say nothing.  The faint rose upon her cheek had vanished; her eyes were heavy, and lacked their vital gleam; her mouth, no longer mobile and provocative, trembled on the verge of sobs, pathetic, childlike.  She hung her head, moved with a languid, diffident step, looked smaller and slighter, a fashionable garb of woe aiding the unhappy transformation.

‘I oughtn’t to have given you this trouble,’ said Sibyl.  ’But perhaps you would rather see me here ——­’

‘Yes —­ oh yes —­ it was much better ——­’

’Sit down, dear.  We won’t talk of wretched things, will we?  If I could have been of any use to you ——­’

‘I was so afraid you would never ——­’

‘Oh, you know me better than that,’ broke in Mrs. Carnaby, almost with cheerfulness, her countenance already throwing off the decorous shadow, like a cloak that had served its turn.  ’I hope I am neither foolish nor worldly-minded.’