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 Alma's own, vagueness of purpose, infirmity of will, Miss
Steinfeld had a fund of moral principle which made her talk wholesome
and her aspirations an influence for good. She imagined herself in love
with an artist whom she had seen only two or three times, and no strain
could have been more exalted than that in which she confided her
romance to the sympathetic Alma. Sympathetic, that is, within her
limits; for Miss Frothingham had never been in love, and rarely
indulged a mood of sentiment. Her characteristic emotions she of course
did not reveal, save unconsciously, and Miss Steinfeld knew nothing of
the tragic circumstances which explained her friend's solitude.

In the first days at Bregenz they felt a renewal of pleasure in each
other's society; Alma's spirits were much improved; she enjoyed the
scenery, and lived in the open air. There was climbing of mountains,
the Pfander with its reward of noble outlook, and the easier
Gebhardsberg, with its hanging woods; there was boating on the lake,
and rambling along its shores, with rest and refreshment at some
Gartenwithschaft. Miss Steinfeld, whose reading and intelligence were
superior to Alma's, liked to explore the Roman ruins and linger in the
museum. Alma could not long keep up a pretence of interest in the
relics of Brigantium; but she said one day, with a smile----

'I know someone who would enjoy this kind of thing--an Englishman--very
learned----'

'Old?' inquired her friend significantly.

'Yes--no. Neither old nor young. A strange man; rather interesting.
I've a good mind,' she added mischievously, 'to send him a photograph.'

'Of yourself?'

'Oh dear, no! He wouldn't care for that. A view of the Alt-Stadt.'

And in her mood of frolic she acted upon the thought. She purchased two
or three views, had them done up for post, and addressed them to Harvey
Rolfe, Esq, at the Metropolitan Club; for his private address she could
not remember, but the club remained in her mind from Sibyl's talk of
it. When the packet was gone, of course she regretted having sent it.
More likely than not, Mr. Rolfe considered himself to have ended all
acquaintance with the disgraced family, and, if he recognised her
handwriting, would just throw the photographs aside. Let him; it
mattered nothing, one way