'You couldn't help it. If you had tried to make me go another way, it would only have led to unhappiness. At that time I was mad to make my name known, and, though I loved you, I believe I could have left you rather than give up my ambition. Mr. Redgrave used to invite people to his house in the summer to afternoon tea, and I went there once with a lady. Other people as well--a lot of other people. That's how I knew the house. I was never there alone until that last evening.--Don't shrink away from me!' 'I didn't. Go on, and be quick.' 'I suspected Sibyl from the moment you told me about her husband and Mr Redgrave. You did, too, Harvey.' 'Leave her aside.' 'But it was because of her. I saw she was getting to dislike me, and I thought she knew Mr. Redgrave was doing his best for me, and that she was jealous, and would prevent him--do you understand? He was my friend, nothing else; but _she_ would never believe that. And a few days before my recital he seemed to lose interest, and I thought it was her doing. Can you understand how I felt? Not jealousy, for I never even liked him. I was living only for the hope of a success. Do you believe me, Harvey?' 'Easily enough.' Thereupon she related truly, without omission, the train of circumstances that brought her to Wimbledon on the fatal night, and all that happened until she fled away into the darkness. 'It would be silly to say I oughtn't to have gone there. Of course, I knew all I was risking; but I felt I could give my life to detect that woman and have her in my power. 'It's just that I don't understand. If it had been ordinary jealousy--why, of course----' 'Men never can understand why women hate each other. She thought herself so superior to me, and showed it in every look and word; and all the time I knew she was a wicked hypocrite.' '_How_ did you know that?' Rolfe broke in vehemently, staring into her white face as a ray from the street illumined it. 'Oh, I can't tell you!' she replied, in a moaning, quivering voice. 'I knew it--I knew it--something told me. But I don't ask you to believe that. Only about myself--can you believe about myself?' He replied mechanically, 'Yes.' Alma, with a sigh as much of hopelessness as of relief, lay back and said no more. At Notting Hill Gate they waited for a train. Alma wandered about the platform, her head bent, silent and heeding nothing. In the railway carriage she closed her eyes, and Harvey had to draw her attention when it was time to alight. On entering the house she went at once upstairs. Harvey loitered about below, and presently sat down in the study, leaving the door ajar.