t on
behalf of society.'

'Precisely the effort I am making. If a man works at developing and
fortifying the best things in his own character, he is surely doing
society a service.'

She smiled sceptically.

'Yes, no doubt. But how do you develop and fortify yourself?'

She was meeting him half-way, thought Everard. Foreseeing the
inevitable, she wished to have it over and done with. Or else--

'I live very quietly,' was his reply, 'thinking of grave problems most
of my time. You know I am a great deal alone.'

'Naturally.'

'No; anything but naturally.'

Rhoda said nothing. He waited a moment, then moved to a seat much
nearer hers. Her face hardened, and he saw her fingers lock together.

'Where a man is in love, solitude seems to him the most unnatural of
conditions.'

'Please don't make me your confidante, Mr. Barfoot,' Rhoda with
well-assumed pleasantry. 'I have no taste for that kind of thing.'

'But I can't help doing so. It is you that I am in love with.'

'I am very sorry to hear it. Happily, the sentiment will not long
trouble you.'

He read in her eyes and on her lips a profound agitation. She glanced
about the room, and, before he could again speak, had risen to ring the
bell.

'You always take coffee, I think?'

Without troubling to give any assent, he moved apart and turned over
some books on the table. For full five minutes there was silence. The
coffee was brought; he tasted it and put his cup down. Seeing that
Rhoda had, as it were, entrenched herself behind the beverage, and
would continue to sip at is as long as might be necessary, he went and
stood in front of her.

'Miss Nunn, I am more serious than you will give me credit for being.
The sentiment, as you call it, has troubled me for some time, and will
last.'

Her refuge failed her. The cup she was holding began to shake a little.

'Please let me put it aside for you.'

Rhoda allowed him to do so, and then locked her fingers.

'I am so much in love with you that I can't keep away from this house
more than a few days at a time. Of course you have known it; I haven't
tried to disguise why I came here so often. It's so seldom that I see
you alone; and now that fortune is kind to me I must speak as best I
can. I won't make myself ridiculous in your eyes--if I can help it. You
despise the love-making of ballrooms and garden parties; so do I, most
heartily. Let me speak like a man who has few illusions to overcome. I
want you f