'Business, possibly. More likely—the other thing I spoke of.'
In this reply Mrs. Strangeways modified her tone, discarding mellifluous tenderness, yet not going quite so far as Alma in neglect of appearances. She was an older woman, and had learnt the injudiciousness of impulsive behaviour.
'Speak plainly—it saves time. You think he won't care to meet me at all again?'
'I don't say that. I should be very sorry indeed to think it. But—to speak as plainly as you wish, dear—I know that someone must have said unpleasant things to him about your—your friendship with Mr. Dymes.'
'Are you hinting at anyone in particular?' Alma asked, salving her self-respect with a poor affectation of haughtiness.
'Ask yourself, my dear, who is at all likely to give him such information.'
'Information?' Alma's eyes flashed. 'That's a strange word to use. Do you imagine there is any information of that kind to be given?'
'I spoke carelessly,' answered the other, smiling. 'Do sit down, dear Mrs. Rolfe. I'm sure you will overtax your strength before Tuesday. I meant nothing whatever, I assure you.'
Reluctantly Alma became seated, and the conversation was prolonged. Without disguise they debated the probability that Redgrave was being estranged from Alma by Sibyl Carnaby; of course, taking for granted Sibyl's guilt, and presuming that she feared rivalry. From time to time Alma threw out scornful assertion of her own security; she was bold to the point of cynicism, and recklessly revealed herself. The other listened attentively, still smiling, but without constraint upon her features; at moments she appeared to feel something of admiration.
'There are several things in your favour,' she remarked deliberately, when Alma had declared a resolve to triumph at all hazards. 'Above all—but one need not mention it.'