inguished.

"When does it take place, Dahlia?"

Her long underlip, white almost as the row of teeth it revealed, hung
loose.

"When?" he asked, leaning forward to hear, and the word was "Saturday,"
uttered with a feeble harshness, not like the gentle voice of Dahlia.

"This coming Saturday?"

"No."

"Saturday week?"

She fell into a visible trembling.

"You named the day?"

He pushed for an indication of cheerful consent to the act she was about
to commit, or of reluctance.

Possibly she saw this, for now she answered, "I did." The sound was deep
in her throat.

"Saturday week," said Robert. "I feel to the man as a brother, already.
Do you live--you'll live in the country?"

"Abroad."

"Not in Old England? I'm sorry for that. But--well! Things must be as
they're ordered. Heigho! I've got to learn it."

Dahlia smiled kindly.

"Rhoda will love you. She is firm when she loves."

"When she loves. Where's the consolation to me?"

"Do you think she loves me as much--as much"

"As much as ever? She loves her sister with all her heart--all, for I
haven't a bit of it."

"It is because," said Dahlia slowly, "it is because she thinks I am--"

Here the poor creature's bosom heaved piteously.

"What has she said of me? I wish her to have blamed me--it is less pain."

"Listen," said Robert. "She does not, and couldn't blame you, for it's a
sort of religion with her to believe no wrong of you. And the reason why
she hates me is, that I, knowing something more of the world, suspected,
and chose to let her know it--I said it, in fact--that you had been
deceived by a--But this isn't the time to abuse others. She would have
had me, if I had thought proper to think as she thinks, or play
hypocrite, and pretend to. I'll tell you openly, Dahlia; your father
thinks the worst. Ah! you look the ghost again. It's hard for you to
hear, but you give me a notion of having got strength to hear it. It's
your father's way to think the worst. Now, when you can show him your
husband, my dear, he'll lift his head. He's old English. He won't dream
of asking questions. He'll see a brave and honest young man who must love
you, or--he does love you, that's settled. Your father'll shake his hand,
and as for Rhoda, she'll triumph. The only person to speak out to, is the
man who marries you, and that you've done."

Robert looked the interrogation he did not utter.

"I have," said Dahlia.

"Good: if I may call him brother, some