'It's so difficult,' replied Alma, her features more naturally expressive, her eyes a little brighter. 'You see, I am utterly dependent upon Mamma. I had better tell you at once--Mamma will have enough to live upon, however things turn out. She has money of her own; but of course I have nothing--nothing whatever. I think, most likely, Mamma will go to live with her sister, in the country, for a time. She couldn't bear to go on living in London, and she doesn't like life abroad. If only I could do as I wish!' 'I guess what that would be,' said the other, smiling gently. 'To take up music as a profession--yes. But I'm not ready for it.' 'Oh, half a year of serious study; with your decided talent, I should think you couldn't hesitate. You are a born musician.' The words acted as a cordial. Alma roused herself, lifted her drooping head and smiled. 'That's the praise of a friend.' 'And the serious opinion of one not quite unfit to judge,' rejoined Sibyl, with her air of tranquil self-assertion. 'Besides, we have agreed--haven't we?--that the impulse is everything. What you wish for, try for. Just now you have lost courage; you are not yourself. Wait till you recover your balance.' 'It isn't that I want to make a name, or anything of that sort,' said Alma, in a voice that was recovering its ordinary pitch and melody. 'I dare say I never should; I might just support myself, and that would be all. But I want to be free--I want to break away.' 'Of course!' 'I have been thinking that I shall beg Mamma to let me have just a small allowance, and go off by myself. I know people at Leipzig--the Gassners, you remember. I could live there on little enough, and work, and feel free. Of course, there's really no reason why I shouldn't. I have been feeling so bound and helpless; and now that nobody has any right to hinder me, you think it would be the wise thing?'