is principle to reflect on
every possibility, Barfoot of course asked himself whether it would not
be reasonable to approach one or other of these young women--the Miss
Brissendens. He needed a larger income; he wanted to travel in a more
satisfactory way than during his late absence. Agnes Brissenden struck
him as a very calm and sensible girl; not at all likely to marry any
one but the man who would be a suitable companion for her, and probably
disposed to look on marriage as a permanent friendship, which must not
be endangered by feminine follies. She had no beauty, but mental powers
above the average--superior, certainly, to her sister's.

It was worth thinking about, but in the meantime he wanted to see much
more of Rhoda Nunn. Rhoda he was beginning to class with women who are
attractive both physically and mentally. Strange how her face had
altered to his perception since the first meeting. He smiled now when
he beheld it--smiled as a man does when his senses are pleasantly
affected. He was getting to know it so well, to be prepared for its
constant changes, to watch for certain movements of brows or lips when
he had said certain things. That forcible holding of her hand had
marked a stage in progressive appreciation; since then he felt a desire
to repeat the experiment.

'Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Imprison her soft hand, and
let her rave--'

The lines occurred to his memory, and he understood them better than
heretofore. It would delight him to enrage Rhoda, and then to detain
her by strength, to overcome her senses, to watch her long lashes droop
over the eloquent eyes. But this was something very like being in love,
and he by no means wished to be seriously in love with Miss Nunn.

It was another three weeks before he had an opportunity of private talk
with her. Trying a Sunday afternoon, about four, he found Rhoda alone
in the drawing-room; Miss Barfoot was out of town. Rhoda's greeting had
a frank friendliness which she had not bestowed upon him for a long
time; not, indeed, since they met on her return from Cheddar. She
looked very well, readily laughed, and seemed altogether in a coming-on
disposition. Barfoot noticed that the piano was open.

'Do you play?' he inquired. 'Strange that I should still have to ask
the question.'

'Oh, only a hymn on Sunday,' she answered off-hand.

'A hymn?'

'Why not? I like some of the old tunes very much. They remind me of the
golden age.'

'In