'Kilauea,' murmured Sibyl, with a dreamy air, as she raised the wine-glass to her lips. 'I was lazy, no doubt. The climate, you know; and then I don't care much about bubbling lava. It was much nicer to watch the gold-fish at Waikiki.—Where is your husband today?'
'Of all things in the world, gone to Lord's! He says he never saw a cricket match in his life, and it struck him this morning that it really was a defect in his education. Of course, he was thinking of Hughie. He wants Hughie to be a cricketer and horseman and everything that's robust.'
'Just like Hugh,' replied Sibyl, laughing. 'I should feel the same if I had a boy. I like open-air men—though I shouldn't care always to live among them.'
'Hugh at Coventry still?' Alma inquired.
Her hostess gave a nod, with a look intimating that she would say more when the servant left them free to talk. She added——
'Do you know Mrs. Strangeways?'
'I seem to remember a Mr. Strangeways,' replied Alma, 'but I can't think how or where.'
'Yes, he's a man who goes about a good deal. His wife was the widow of that artist who promised so well, and got into a scrape, and died miserably—Edward—no, Egbert Dover. Don't you know that big landscape that hangs in Mrs. Holt's boudoir?—that was one of his. He hid himself away, and died in a garret or a workhouse—something cheerful. I met Mrs. Strangeways at Brisbane; she and her husband were globe-trotting. She might look in this afternoon. I don't know whether you would care for her; she's rather—rapid, you know. But she remembers hearing you play somewhere—spoke of you with great admiration.'
Alma's eyes shone.
'Oh, I should be glad to meet her! Are you going to let me stay with you all the afternoon, then?'