ravely, 'whether
my cousin was suffering only from that cause?'

'I can't say,' she added after a pause. 'I haven't spoken with Miss
Barfoot for two or three days.'

He looked at her with genuine astonishment.

'You haven't seen each other?'

'Miss Barfoot is angry with me. I think we shall be obliged to part.'

'To part? What can possibly have happened? Miss Barfoot angry with
_you_?'

'If I _must_ satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Barfoot, I had better tell you
at once that the subject of our difference is the girl you mentioned.
Not very long ago she tried to persuade your cousin to receive her
again--to give her lessons at the place in Great Portland Street, as
before she disgraced herself. Miss Barfoot, with too ready good-nature,
was willing to do this, but I resisted. It seemed to me that it would
be a very weak and wrong thing to do. At the time she ended by agreeing
with me. Now that the girl has killed herself, she throws the blame
upon my interference. We had a painful conversation, and I don't think
we can continue to live together.'

Barfoot listened with gratification. It was much to have compelled
Rhoda to explain herself, and on such a subject.

'Nor even to work together?' he asked.

'It is doubtful.'

Rhoda still moved forward, but very slowly, and without impatience.

'You will somehow get over this difficulty, I am sure. Such friends as
you and Mary don't quarrel like ordinary unreasonable women. Won't you
let me be of use?'

'How?' asked Rhoda with surprise.

'I shall make my cousin see that she is wrong.'

'How do you know that she is wrong?'

'Because I am convinced that _you_ must be right. I respect Mary's
judgment, but I respect yours still more.'

Rhoda raised her head and smiled.

'That compliment,' she said, 'pleases me less than the one you have
uttered without intending it.'

'You must explain.'

'You said that by making Miss Barfoot see she was wrong you could alter
her mind towards me. The world's opinion would hardly support you in
that, even in the case of men.'

Everard laughed.

'Now this is better. Now we are talking in the old way. Surely you know
that the world's opinion has no validity for me.'

She kept silence.

'But, after all, _is_ Mary wrong? I'm not afraid to ask the question
now that your face has cleared a little. How angry you were with me!
But surely I didn't deserve it. You would have been much more
forbearing if you had known what delight I f