'Yes--working as if I had an examination to pass. It's the best thing in weather such as this--keeps one in health, I believe. You, of course, have your music, which answers the same purpose. I'm going in for the Renaissance; always wished to make a thorough study of it. Hugh is appalled; he never imagined I had so much energy. He says I shall be writing a book next--and why not?' 'Of course you could,' replied Alma. 'You're clever enough for anything.' Her suspicions evaporated in this cosy cloister. She wondered how she could have conceived such a thought of Sibyl, who, dressed so simply, had a girlish air, a beauty as of maidenhood. Exhilarated by her ambitious hopes, she turned in heart to the old friendship, felt her admiration revive, and spoke it freely. 'I know I'm not stupid,' said Sibyl, leaning back as if a little weary; 'and there's the pity of it, that I've never made more use of my brains. Of course, those years abroad were lost, though I suppose I got to know a little more of the world. And since we came back I have had no peace of mind. Did you guess that? Perhaps your husband knew about things from Hugh?' 'I was afraid you might be getting rather anxious; but as you never said anything yourself----' 'I never should have done--I hate talking about money. And you know that things are looking better?' Sibyl's confident smile drew one of like meaning from Alma. 'Your husband had good news, I know, when Harvey met him on Saturday.' 'It sounds good,' said Sibyl, 'and I take it for granted it will be as good as it sounds. If that's complicated, well, so is business, and I don't profess to understand the details. I can only say that Hugh seems to be a good deal shrewder and more practical than I thought him. He is always making friends with what I consider the wrong kind of people; now at last he has got hold of just the right man, and it very much puzzles me how he did it. I have known Mr. Redgrave--you've heard it's Mr. Redgrave?--I've known him for several years now, and, between ourselves, I never expected to benefit by the acquaintance.' Her laugh was so significant that Alma had much ado to keep a steady face. 'I know--things are said about him,' she murmured. 'Things _are_ said about him, as you discreetly put it, my dear Alma.' The voice still rippled with laughter. 'I should imagine Hugh has heard them, but I suppose a man of the world thinks nothing of such trifles. And after all'--she grew serious--'I would rather trust Hugh's judgment than general gossip. Hugh thinks him a "very good fellow". They were together a little in Scotland last autumn, you know, and--it's very wrong to make fun of it, and I shouldn't repeat the story to anyone but you--Mr. Redgrave confided to him that he was a blighted being, the victim of an unhappy love in early life. Can you quite picture it?' 'It has an odd sound,' replied Alma, struggling with rather tense nerves. 'Do you believe the story?'