_Auf Wiedersehen_!' Alma continued to walk along the Nymphenburg road, unconscious of external things.

The tram for which she had been waiting passed by; she no longer cared to go out into the country.

It was enough to keep moving in the bright sunshine, and to think her thoughts.
No; people had by no means forgotten her.

Whilst she was allowing herself to fall into gloom and indolence, her acquaintances, it was evident, made her a constant subject of talk, of speculation; just what she had desired, but had lost courage to believe.

They expected great things of her; her personal popularity and her talents had prevailed against the most prejudicial circumstance; people did not think of her as the daughter of Bennet Frothingham,--unless to contrast the hopefulness of her future with the black calamity that lay behind.
She waxed philosophical.