'Why shouldn't you be? You have the same opportunities, and make all possible use of them.' Alma was silent for a few ticks of the clock. Once, and a second time, she stole a glance at Harvey's face; then grasping with each hand the arms of her chair, and seeming to string herself for an effort, she spoke in a half-jesting tone. 'What should you say if I proposed to come out--to _be_ a professional?' Harvey's eyes turned slowly upon her; he read her face with curiosity, and did not smile. 'Do you mean you have thought of it?' 'To tell you the truth, it is so often put into my head by other people. I am constantly being asked why I'm content to remain an amateur.' 'By professional musicians?' 'All sorts of people.' 'It reminds me of something. You know I don't interfere; I don't pretend to have you in surveillance, and don't wish to begin it. But are you quite sure that you are making friends in the best class that is open to you?' Alma's smile died away. For a moment she recovered the face of years gone by; a look which put Harvey in mind of Mrs. Frothingham's little drawing-room at Swiss Cottage, where more than once Alma had gazed at him with a lofty coldness which concealed resentment. That expression could still make him shrink a little and feel uncomfortable. But it quickly faded, giving place to a look of perfectly amiable protest. 'My dear Harvey, what has caused you to doubt it?' 'I merely asked the question. Perhaps it occurred to me that you were not exactly in your place among people who talk to you in that way.' 'You must allow for my exaggeration,' said Alma softly. 'One or two have said it--just people who know most about music. And there's a _way_ of putting things.' 'Was Mrs. Carnaby there today?' 'No.' 'You don't see her very often now?' 'Perhaps not _quite_ so often. I suppose the reason is that I am more drawn to the people who care about music. Sibyl really isn't musical--though, of course, I like her as much as ever. Then--the truth is, she seems to have grown rather extravagant, and I simply don't understand how she can keep up such a life--if it's true that her husband is only losing money. Last time I was with her I couldn't help thinking that she ought to--to deny herself rather more. It's habit, I suppose.' Harvey nodded--twice, thrice; and kept a grave countenance. 'And you don't care to see much of Mrs. Abbott?' he rather let fall than spoke. 'Well, you know, dear, I don't mean to be at all disagreeable, but we have so little in common. Isn't it so? I am sure Mrs. Abbott isn't anxious for my society.' Again Rolfe sat silent, and again Alma stole glances at him.