ould enjoy the
opportunity of teasing you.'

A glance told her that Everard was not alone in his enjoyment of the
evening. Rhoda led the talk into other channels, but Miss Barfoot
continued to reflect on what she had perceived.

A few evenings after, when Miss Barfoot had been sitting alone for an
hour or two, Rhoda came to the library and took a place near her. The
elder woman glanced up from her book, and saw that her friend had
something special to say.

'What is it, dear?'

'I am going to tax your good-nature, to ask you about unpleasant
things.'

Miss Barfoot knew immediately what this meant. She professed readiness
to answer, but had an uneasy look.

'Will you tell me in plain terms what it was that your cousin did when
he disgraced himself?'

'Must you really know?'

'I wish to know.'

There was a pause. Miss Barfoot kept her eyes on the page open before
her.

'Then I shall take the liberty of an old friend, Rhoda. Why do you wish
to know?'

'Mr. Barfoot,' answered the other dryly, 'has been good enough to say
that he is in love with me.'

Their eyes met.

'I suspected it. I felt sure it was coming. He asked you to marry him?'

'No, he didn't,' replied Rhoda in purposely ambiguous phrase.

'You wouldn't allow him to?'

'At all events, it didn't come to that. I should be glad if you would
let me know what I asked.'

Miss Barfoot deliberated, but finally told the story of Amy Drake. Her
hands supporting one knee, her head bent, Rhoda listened without
comment, and, to judge from her features, without any emotion of any
kind.

'That,' said her friend at the close, 'is the story as it was
understood at the time--disgraceful to him in every particular. He knew
what was said of him, and offered not a word of contradiction. But not
very long ago he asked me one evening if you had been informed of this
scandal. I told him that you knew he had done something which I thought
very base. Everard was hurt, and thereupon he declared that neither I
nor any other of his acquaintances knew the truth--that he had been
maligned. He refused to say more, and what am I to believe?'

Rhoda was listening with livelier attention.

'He declared that he wasn't to blame?'

'I suppose he meant that. But it is difficult to see--'

'Of course the truth can never be known,' said Rhoda, with sudden
indifference. 'And it doesn't matter. Thank you for satisfying my
curiosity.'

Miss Barfoot waited a moment, then la