There came a letter from Mutimer to-day; in it he mentioned Alice and reminded Adela of her promise.  This revived a trouble which had fallen out of activity for a day or two.  She could not come to any decision.  When at Alice’s house she had not even suggested a return visit; at the moment it had seemed so out of the question for Alice to meet Mrs. Westlake.  In any case, was it worth while exposing Stella to the difficulties of such a meeting when it could not possibly lead to anything further?  One reason against it Adela was ashamed to dwell upon, yet it weighed strongly with her:  she was so jealous of her friend’s love, so fearful of losing anything in Stella’s estimation, that she shrank from the danger of becoming associated with Mrs. Rodman in Stella’s mind.  Could she speak freely of Alice?  Mutimer’s affectionate solicitude was honourable to him, and might veil much that was disagreeable in Alice.  But the intimacy between Adela and Mrs. Westlake was not yet of the kind which permits a free disclosure of troubles to which, rightly or wrongly, there attaches a sense of shame.  Such troubles are always the last to be spoken of between friends; friendship must be indeed far-reaching before it includes them within its scope.  They were still but learning to know each other, and that more from silent observation, from the sympathy of looks, from touchings of hands and lips, than by means of direct examination or avowal.  The more she strove with her difficulty the less able Adela felt herself to ask Mrs. Rodman to come or to mention her to Stella.  The trouble spoilt her enjoyment of a concert that evening, and kept her restless in the night, for, though seemingly a small matter, it had vital connection with the core of her life’s problem; it forced her relentlessly to a consciousness of many things from which she had taught herself to avert her eyes.

Another thing there was which caused her anxious debate—­a project which had been in her mind for nearly a year.  You will not imagine that Adela had forgotten the letter from Mrs. Clay.  The knowledge it brought her made the turning-point of her life.  No word on the subject passed between her and Mutimer after the conversation which ended in her fainting-fit.  The letter he retained, and the course he had chosen made it advisable that he should pay no heed to its request for assistance.  Adela remembered the address of the writer, and made a note of it, but it was impossible to reply.  Her state of mind after overhearing the conversation between Richard and his sister was such that she durst not even take the step of privately sending money, lest her husband should hear of it and it should lead to further question.  She felt that, hard as it was to live with that secret, to hear Mutimer repeat his calumnies would involve her in yet worse anguish, leading perhaps to terrible things; for, on her return to the house that night, she suffered a revelation of herself, which held her