'Yes; just to look at it, and get it put in order. I hope to be there again before long. You didn't doubt I should come?'
'You left it uncertain.'
'To be sure. Life is uncertain. But I should have been desperately disappointed if I hadn't found you here. There are so many things to be said about going in for music as a profession. You have the talent, you have the physical strength, I think.' His eye flattered her from head to foot. 'But, to be a great artist, one must have more than technical qualifications. It's the soul that must be developed.'
Alma laughed.
'I know it. And what is your receipt for developing the soul?'
Redgrave paused in his walk. Smiling, he gave a twist to his moustache, and appeared to meditate profoundly.
'The soul—well, it has a priggish sound. Let us say the character; and that is developed through experience of life.'
'I'm getting it.'
'Are you? In the company of Miss Steinfeld? I'm afraid that won't carry you very far. Experience means emotion; certainly, for a woman. Believe me, you haven't begun to live yet. You may practise on your violin day and night, and it won't profit you—until you have lived.'
Alma was growing serious. These phrases harmonised well enough with her own insubstantial thoughts and idly-gathered notions. When preparing to escape from England, she had used much the same language. But, after all, what did it mean? What, in particular, did Cyrus Redgrave mean, with his expressive eyes, and languid, earnest tone?