And in her mood of frolic she acted upon the thought. She purchased two or three views, had them done up for post, and addressed them to Harvey Rolfe, Esq, at the Metropolitan Club; for his private address she could not remember, but the club remained in her mind from Sibyl's talk of it. When the packet was gone, of course she regretted having sent it. More likely than not, Mr. Rolfe considered himself to have ended all acquaintance with the disgraced family, and, if he recognised her handwriting, would just throw the photographs aside. Let him; it mattered nothing, one way or the other. When a week had passed, the novelty of things wore off; the friends began to wander apart; Miss Steinfeld made acquaintances in the _pension_, and Alma drifted into solitude. At the end of a fortnight she was tired of everything, wished to go away, thought longingly of England. It was plain that Mr. Redgrave would not come; he had never seriously meant it; his _Auf Wiedersehen_ was a mere civility to get rid of her in the street. Why had he troubled to inquire about her at all? Of course it didn't matter--nothing mattered--but if ever she met him again! Alma tried her features in expression of cold scornfulness. On the next day, as she was returning from an idle walk with her friend along the Lindau road, Mr. Redgrave met them. He was dressed as she had never seen him, in flannels, with a white necktie loosely knotted and a straw hat. Not till he had come near enough to salute did she recognise him; he looked ten years younger. They talked as if the meeting were of daily occurrence. Redgrave addressed himself to Miss Steinfeld as often as to Alma, and showed a graceful command of decorous commonplace. He had arrived early this morning, had put up at the Oesterreichischer Hof, was already delighted with Brogenz. Did Miss Steinfeld devote herself to landscape? Had she done anything here? Had Miss Frothingham brought her violin? They strolled pleasantly to the Hafen promenade, and parted at length with assurances of meeting again, as if definite appointment were needless. 'That is my idea of the English gentleman,' said Miss Steinfeld afterwards. 'I think I should have taken him for a lord. No doubt he is very rich?' 'Oh, pretty well off,' Alma replied, with assumed indifference. 'Ten thousand pounds a year, I dare say.' 'Ten thousand! _Lieber Himmel_! And married?' 'No.' 'In Parliament, I suppose?' 'No.' 'Then, what does he do?' 'Oh, amuses himself.' Each became occupied with her thoughts. Alma's were so agreeable, that Miss Steinfeld, observing her, naturally fell into romantic speculation. Redgrave easily contrived that his next walk should be with Miss Frothingham alone. He overtook her next morning, soon after she had left the house, and they rambled in the Gebhardsberg direction. 'Now let us have the promised talk,' he began at a favourable moment. 'I've been thinking about you all the time.' 'Did you go to your place on Lake Garda?'