She tried to return her friend's smile with the ordinary unconcern.

After dinner there was no avoiding Miss Steinfeld, whose air of extreme discretion showed that she had an inkling of events, and awaited confidences.
'Mr.Redgrave has gone--he called to say goodbye.' '_So_ ?' Irritated by self-consciousness, revolting against a misinterpretation which would injure her vanity, though it was not likely to aim at her honour, Alma had recourse to fiction.
'I daresay you guess ?--Yes, and I refused.' Miss Steinfeld was puzzled.

It did not astonish her that a girl should reject ten thousand pounds per annum, for that she was too high-minded; but she had thought it beyond doubt that Alma's heart was engaged.
Here, it had seemed to her, was the explanation of a mystery attaching to this original young Englishwoman; unhoped, the brilliant lover, the secretly beloved, had sought her in her retirement.

And after all, it was a mistake.
'I don't care for him a bit,' Alma went on.

'It had to be got over and done with, that was all.' She felt ashamed of herself.