'Heavens! You have suspected----? What _have_ you suspected?'

'They are your own. I have known it for a long time.'

Alarm notwithstanding, Rolfe was so struck by the absurdity of this charge that he burst into stentorian laughter. Whilst he laughed, Alma sank into a chair, powerless, tearful.

'I should much like to know,' exclaimed Harvey, laying a hand upon her, 'how you made that astounding discovery. Do you think they are like me?'

'The girl is--or I thought so.'

'After you had decided that she must be, no doubt.' Again he exploded in laughter. 'And this is the meaning of it all? This is what you have been fretting over? For how long?'

Alma brushed away her tears, but gave no answer.

'And if I am their father,' he pursued, with resolute mirthfulness, 'pray, who do you suppose their mother to be?'

Still Alma kept silence, her head bent.

'I'll warrant I can give you evidence against myself which you hadn't discovered,' Rolfe went on--'awful and unanswerable evidence. It is I who support those children, and pay for their education!--it is I, and no other. See your darkest suspicion confirmed. If only you had known this for certain!'

'Why, then, do you do it?' asked Alma, without raising her eyes.

'For a very foolish reason: there was no one else who could or would.'

'And why did you keep it a secret from me?'

'This is the blackest part of the whole gloomy affair,' he answered, with burlesque gravity. 'It's in the depraved nature of men to keep secrets from their wives, especially about money. To tell the truth, I'm hanged if I know why I didn't tell you before our marriage. The infamous step was taken not very long before, and I might as well have made a clean breast of it. Has Mrs. Abbott never spoken to you about her cousin, Wager's wife?'

'A word or two.'

'Which you took for artful fiction? You imagined she had plotted with me to deceive you? What, in the name of commonsense, is your estimate of Mrs. Abbott's character?'

Alma drew a deep breath, and looked up into her husband's face.

'Still--she knew you were keeping it from me, about the money.'

'She had no suspicion of it. She always wrote to me openly, acknowledging the cheques. Would it gratify you to look through her letters?'

'I believe you.'

'Not quite, I fancy. Look at me again and say it.'

He raised her head gently.

'Yes, I believe you--it was very silly.'

'It was. The only piece of downright feminine foolishness I ever knew you guilty of. But when did it begin?'

Alma had become strangely quiet. She spoke in a low, tired voice, and sat with head turned aside, resting against the back of the chair; her face was expressionless, her eyelids drooped. Rolfe had to repeat his question.

'I hardly know,' she replied. 'It must have been when my illness was coming on.'

'So I should think. It was sheer frenzy. And now that it's over, have you still any prejudice against Mrs. Abbott?'

'No.'

The syllable fell idly from her lips.

'You are tired, dear. All this sound and fury has been too much for you. Lie down on the sofa till dinner-time.'

She allowed him to lead her across the room, and lay down as he wished.

To his kiss upon her forehead she made no response, but closed her eyes and was very still. Harvey seated himself at his desk, and opened two or three unimportant letters which had arrived this morning. To one of them he wrote an answer. Turning presently to glance at Alma, he saw that she had not stirred, and when he leaned towards her, the sound of her breathing told him that she was asleep.

He meditated on Woman.

A quarter of an hour before dinner-time he left the room; on his return, when the meal was ready, he found Alma still sleeping, and so soundly that it seemed wrong to wake her. As rays of sunset had begun to fall into the room, he drew the blind, then quietly went out, and had dinner by himself.

At ten o'clock Alma still slept. Using a closely-shaded lamp, Harvey sat in the room with her and read--or seemed to read; for ever and again his eyes strayed to the still figure, and his thoughts wandered over all he knew of Alma's life. He wished he knew more, that he might better understand her. Of her childhood, her early maidenhood, what conception had he? Yet he and she were _one_--so said the creeds. And Harvey laughed to himself, a laugh more of melancholy than of derision.

The clock ticked on; it was near to eleven. Then Alma stirred, raised herself, and looked towards the light.

'Harvey----? Have I been asleep so long?'

'Nearly five hours.'

'Oh! That was last night----'

'You mean, you had no sleep?'

'Didn't close my eyes.'

'And you feel better now?'

'Rather hungry.'

Rolfe laughed. He had seated himself on the couch by her and held her in his arms.

'Why, then we'll have some supper--a cold fowl and a bottle of Burgundy--a profligate supper, fit for such abandoned characters; and over it you shall tell me how the world looked to you when you were ten years old.'

CHAPTER 4

Alma returned to Basingstoke, and remained there until the new house was ready for her reception. With the help of her country friends she engaged two domestics, cook and housemaid, who were despatched to Gunnersbury in advance; they had good 'characters', and might possibly co-operate with their new mistress in her resolve to create an admirable household. Into this ambition Alma had thrown herself with no less fervour than that which carried her off to wild Wales five years ago; but her aim was now strictly 'practical', she would have nothing more to do with 'ideals'. She took lessons in domestic economy from the good people at Basingstoke. Yes, she had found her way at last! Alma saw it in the glow of a discovery, this calm, secure, and graceful middle-way. She talked of it with an animation that surprised and pleased her little circle down in Hampshire; those ladies had never been able to illumine their everyday discharge of duty with such high imaginative glory. In return for their humble lessons, Alma taught them to admire themselves, to see in their place and functions a n.o.bility they had never suspected.

For a day or two after her arrival at Gunnersbury, Harvey thought that he had never seen her look so well; certainly she had never shown the possibilities of her character to such advantage. It seemed out of the question that any trouble could ever again come between them. Only when the excitement of novelty had subsided did he perceive that Alma was far from having recovered her physical strength. A walk of a mile or two exhausted her; she came home from an hour's exercise with Hughie pale and tremulous; and of a morning it was often to be noticed that she had not slept well. Without talking of it, Harvey planned the holiday which Alma had declared would be quite needless this year; he took a house in Norfolk for September. Before the day of departure, Alma had something to tell him, which, by suggesting natural explanation of her weakness, made him less uneasy. Remembering the incident which had brought to a close their life in Wales, he saw with pleasure that Alma no longer revolted against the common lot of woman.

Perhaps, indeed, the announcement she made to him was the cause of more anxiety in his mind than in hers.