exaggerated sentiment. You can't see it in that light perhaps. But try
to imagine for a moment that Bella had been your sister--'

'That is confusing the point at issue,' Rhoda exclaimed irritably.
'Have I ever denied the force of such feelings? My grief would have
blinded me to all larger considerations, of course. But she was happily
_not_ my sister, and I remained free to speak the simple truth about
her case. It isn't personal feeling that directs a great movement in
civilization. If you were right, I also was right. You should have
recognized the inevitable discord of our Opinions at that moment.'

'It didn't seem to me inevitable.'

'I should have despised myself if I could have affected sympathy.'

'Affected--yes.'

'Or have really felt it. That would have meant that I did not know
myself. I should never again have dared to speak on any grave subject.'

Miss Barfoot smiled sadly.

'How young you are! Oh, there is far more than ten years between our
ages, Rhoda! In spirit you are a young girl, and I an old woman. No,
no; we _will not_ quarrel. Your companionship is far too precious to
me, and I dare to think that mine is not without value for you. Wait
till my grief has had its course; then I shall be more reasonable and
do you more justice.'

Rhoda turned towards the door, lingered, but without looking back, and
so left the room.

Miss Barfoot was absent as she had announced, returning only in time
for her duties in Great Portland Street on Monday morning. She and
Rhoda then shook hands, but without a word of personal reference. They
went through the day's work as usual.

This was the day of the month on which Miss Barfoot would deliver her
four o'clock address. The subject had been announced a week ago: 'Woman
as an Invader.' An hour earlier than usual work was put aside, and
seats were rapidly arranged for the small audience; it numbered only
thirteen--the girls already on the premises and a few who came
specially. All were aware of the tragedy in which Miss Barfoot had
recently been concerned; her air of sadness, so great a contrast to
that with which she was wont to address them, they naturally attributed
to this cause.

As always, she began in the simplest conversational tone. Not long
since she had received an anonymous letter, written by some clerk out
of employment, abusing her roundly for her encouragement of female
competition in the clerkly world. The taste of this epistle was as bad
as