am rejoiced to hear it. You will not, I apprehend, Mrs Phoebe,
suffer any surprise, if I tell you of my hopes with regard to Mrs
Rhoda. You must, surely, have seen, when at Delawarr Court, what was my
ambition. Think you there is any chance for me with Madam Furnival?"

It was well for Osmund Derwent that he had not the faintest idea of what
was going on beneath the still, white face of the girl who walked beside
him so quietly. She understood now. She knew, revealed as by a flash
of lightning, what it was which it would be hard work to resign at God's
call.

It was Rhoda for whom he cared--not Phoebe. Phoebe was interesting to
him, simply as being in his mind associated with Rhoda. And Rhoda did
not want him: and Phoebe had to tell him so.

So she told him. "I am sure Madam would receive you with a welcome,"
she said. "But as for Mrs Rhoda, 'tis best you should know she stands
promised already."

Mr Derwent thought Phoebe particularly unsympathising. People often do
think so of those whose "hands are clasped above a hidden pain," and who
have to speak with forced calmness, as the only way in which they dare
speak at all. He felt a little hurt; he had thought Phoebe so friendly
at Delawarr Court.

"To whom?" he asked, almost angrily.

"Mr Marcus Welles."

"That painted fop!" cried Derwent.

Phoebe was silent.

"You really mean that? She is positively promised to him?"

"She is promised to him."

Phoebe spoke in a dull, low, dreamy tone. She felt as though she were
in a dream: all these events which were passing around her never could
be real. She heard Osmund Derwent's bitter comments, as though she
heard them not. She was conscious of only one wish for the future--to
be left alone with God.

Osmund Derwent was extremely disappointed in Phoebe. He had expected
much more sympathy and consideration from her. He said to himself, in
the moments which he could spare from the main subject, that Phoebe did
not understand him, and did not feel for him in the least. She had
never loved anybody--that was plain!

And meantime, simply to bear and wait, until he chose to leave her,
taxed all Phoebe's powers to her uttermost.

She was left alone at last. But instead of going back to the house,
where she had no certainty of privacy, Phoebe plunged into the shade of
a clump of cedars and cypresses, and sat down at the foot of one of
them.

It was a lovely, cloudless day. Through the bright feath