She waxed philosophical.  How everything in this world tends to good!  At her father’s death she had mourned bitterly; it had struck her to the heart; his imprudence (she could never use, even in thought, a harsher word) pained more than it shamed her, and not a day passed but she sorrowed over the dishonour that darkened his memory.  Yet were not these woes and disasters the beginning of a new life for her!  In prosperity, what would she ever have become?  Nothing less than being thrown out into the world could have given her the impulse needed to realise a high ambition. ‘Tant mieux, another great violinist!’ How sincerely, how inspiringly, it was said!

And Alma’s feet had brought her home again before she paused to reflect that, for all purposes of ambition, the past half-year had been utterly wasted.  Never mind; after her return from Bregenz!

On her table lay Redgrave’s note; a very civil line or two, requesting permission to call.  There was another letter, black-bordered, which came from her step-mother.  Mrs. Frothingham said that she had been about to write for several days, but all sorts of disagreeable business had hindered her; even now, she could only write hurriedly.  In the last fortnight she had had to go twice to London.  ’And really I think I shall be obliged to go and live there again, for a time; so many things have to be seen to.  It might be best, perhaps, if I took a small flat.  I was going to say, however, that the last time I went up, I met Mr. Redgrave, and we had quite a long talk —­ about you.  He was most sincerely interested in your future; indeed it quite surprised me, for I will confess that I had never had a very high opinion of him.  I fancy he suffered no loss.  His behaviour to me was that of a gentleman, very different from that of some people I could name.  But it was you he spoke of most.  He said he was shortly going to Germany, and begged me to let him have your address, and really I saw no harm in it.  He may call upon you.  If so, let me hear all about it, for it will interest me very much.’

Alma had half a mind to reply at once, but on reflection decided to wait.  After all, Mr. Redgrave might not keep his promise of coming to see her at Bregenz, and in that event a very brief report of what had happened would suffice.  But she felt sure that he meant to come.

And decidedly she hoped it; why, she was content to leave a rosy vagueness.

CHAPTER 8

Alma and her German friend silently agreed in foreseeing that they would not live together much longer.  Miss Steinfeld, eager at first to talk English, was relapsing into her native tongue, and as Alma lazily avoided German, they conversed in different languages, each with a sprinkling of foreign phrase.  The English girl might have allied herself with a far worse companion; for, in spite of defects which resembled