not ally itself with mind; be a woman what
else she may, let her have brains and the power of using them! In that
demand the maturity of his manhood expressed itself. For casual amour
the odalisque could still prevail with him; but for the life of
wedlock, the durable companionship of man and woman, intellect was his
first requirement.

A woman with man's capability of understanding and reasoning; free from
superstition, religious or social; far above the ignoble weaknesses
which men have been base enough to idealize in her sex. A woman who
would scorn the vulgarism of jealousy, and yet know what it is to love.
This was asking much of nature and civilization; did he grossly deceive
himself in thinking he had found the paragon?

For thus far had he advanced in his thoughts of Rhoda Nunn. If the
phrase had any meaning, he was in love with her; yet, strange complex
of emotions, he was still only half serious in his desire to take her
for a wife, wishing rather to amuse and flatter himself by merely
inspiring her with passion. Therefore he refused to entertain a thought
of formal marriage. To obtain her consent to marriage would mean
nothing at all; it would afford him no satisfaction. But so to play
upon her emotions that the proud, intellectual, earnest woman was
willing to defy society for his sake--ah! that would be an end worth
achieving.

Ever since the dialogue in which he frankly explained his position, and
all but declared love, he had not once seen Rhoda in private. She
shunned him purposely beyond a doubt, and did not that denote a fear of
him justified by her inclination? The postponement of what must
necessarily come to pass between them began to try his patience, as
assuredly it inflamed his ardour. If no other resource offered, he
would be obliged to make his cousin an accomplice by requesting her
beforehand to leave him alone with Rhoda some evening when he had
called upon them.

But it was time that chance favoured him, and his interview with Miss
Nunn came about in a way he could not have foreseen.

At the end of the first week of January he was invited to dine at Miss
Barfoot's. The afternoon had been foggy, and when he set forth there
seemed to be some likelihood of a plague of choking darkness such as
would obstruct traffic. As usual, he went by train to Sloane Square,
purposing (for it was dry under foot, and he could not disregard small
economies) to walk the short distance from there to Queen's