it as a coincidence and nothing more;
but if Redgrave had deceived Mrs. Strangeways as to his movements, the
unlooked-for arrival took a suspicious significance. There remained a
dark possibility: that Mrs. Strangeways knew what was about to happen.
Yet this seemed inconceivable.

Was it inconceivable? Why should a woman of that age, and of so much
experience, feel nervous about going alone to her friend's house on
such a simple mission? It appeared odd at the time, and was more
difficult to understand the more she thought of it. And one heard such
strange stories--in society of a certain kind--so many whispered hints
of things that would not bear to be talked about.

Redgrave had not been in Paris, but at Coventry. There again was a
puzzling circumstance. Harvey himself declared his surprise at hearing
that Redgrave had entered into partnership with Hugh Carnaby. Had Sibyl
anything to do with this? Could she have hinted to her friend the
millionaire that her husband's financial position was anything but
satisfactory, and had Redgrave, out of pure friendship--of course, out
of pure friendship--hastened to their succour?

This perplexity was almost as disturbing as that which preceded it.
Knowing the man of money as she did, Alma found it disagreeable to
connect his name thus closely with Sibyl's. Disagreeable in a
complicated sense; for she had begun to think of Cyrus Redgrave as
intimately associated with her own ambitions, secret and avowed. He was
to aid her in winning fame as a violinist; and, to this end, all
possible use (within certain limits) was to be made of the power she
had over him. Alma viewed the position without the least attempt at
disguising its true nature. She was playing with fire; knew it; enjoyed
the excitement of it; trusted herself with the completest confidence to
come out of the game unscorched. But she felt assured that other women,
in similar circumstances, had engaged in much the same encounter with
Cyrus Redgrave; and could it be imagined that Sibyl Carnaby was one of
them--Sibyl, the woman of culture, of high principle, the critic of
society--Sibyl, to whom she had so long paid homage, as to one of the
chosen of her sex? That Redgrave might approach Sibyl with lawless
thought, she could well believe, and such a possibility excited her
indignation; that Sibyl would meet him on his own terms, she could not
for a moment have credited, but for a traitor-voice that spoke in her
for the firs