By the evening’s post on the following day he was surprised to receive a letter addressed in Alma’s unmistakable hand.  The contents did not allay his wonder.

DEAR MR ROLFE,

I am sure you will not mind if I use the privilege of a fairly long acquaintance and speak plainly about something that I regard as important.  I wish to say that I am quite old enough, and feel quite competent, to direct the course of my own life.  It is very kind of you, indeed, to take an interest in what I do and what I hope to do, and I am sure Mamma will be fittingly grateful for any advice you may have offered with regard to me.  But I feel obliged to say quite distinctly that I must manage my own affairs.  Pray excuse this freedom, and believe me, yours truly,

He gasped, and with wide eyes read the missive again and again.  As soon as his nerves were quieted, he sat down and replied thus:  ——­

DEAR MISS FROTHINGHAM,

Your frankness can only be deemed a compliment.  It is perhaps a triviality on my part, but I feel prompted to say that I have at no time discussed your position or prospects with Mrs. Frothingham, and that I have neither offered advice on the subject nor have been requested to do so.  If this statement should appear to you at all germane to the matter, I beg you will take it into consideration. —­ And I am, yours truly,

HARVEY RADCLIFFE ROLFE

CHAPTER 10

This reply despatched, Harvey congratulated himself on being quits with Miss Frothingham.  Her letter, however amusing, was deliberate impertinence; to have answered it in a serious tone would have been to encourage ill-mannered conceit which merited nothing but a snub.

But what had excited her anger?  Had Mrs. Frothingham been guilty of some indiscretion, or was it merely the result of hotheaded surmises and suspicions on the girl’s part?  Plainly, Alma had returned to England in no amiable mood; in all probability she resented her step-mother’s behaviour, now that it had been explained to her; there had arisen ‘unpleasantness’ on the old, the eternal subject —­ money.  Ignoble enough; but was it a new thing for him to discern ignoble possibilities in Alma’s nature?

Nevertheless, his thoughts were constantly occupied with the girl.  Her image haunted him; all his manhood was subdued and mocked by her scornful witchery.  From the infinitudes of reverie, her eyes drew near and gazed upon him —­ eyes gleaming with mischief, keen with curiosity; a look now supercilious, now softly submissive; all the varieties of expression caught in susceptible moments, and stored by a too faithful memory.  Her hair, her lips, her neck, grew present to him, and lured his fancy with a wanton seduction.  In self-defence —­ pathetic stratagem of intellectual man at issue with the flesh —­ he fell back upon the idealism which