if I did I would never share your
life.'

The voice was very unlike her familiar tones. It seemed to hurt her to
speak.

'The reason.--Because you have no faith in me?'

'I can't say whether I have or not. I know absolutely nothing of your
life. But I have my work, and no one shall ever persuade me to abandon
it.'

'Your work? How do you understand it? What is its importance to you?'

'Oh, and you pretend to know me so well that you wish me to be your
companion at every moment!'

She laughed mockingly, and tried to draw away her hand, for it was
burnt by the heat of his. Barfoot held her firmly.

'What _is_ your work? Copying with a type-machine, and teaching others
to do the same--isn't that it?'

'The work by which I earn money, yes. But if it were no more than
that--'

'Explain, then.'

Passion was overmastering him as he watched the fine scorn in her eyes.
He raised her hand to his lips.

'No!' Rhoda exclaimed with sudden wrath. 'Your respect--oh, I
appreciate your respect!'

She wrenched herself from his grasp, and went apart. Barfoot rose,
gazing at her with admiration.

'It is better I should be at a distance from you,' he said. 'I want to
know your mind, and not to be made insensate.'

'Wouldn't it be better still if you left me?' Rhoda suggested, mistress
of herself again.

'If you really wish it.' He remembered the circumstances and spoke
submissively. 'Yet the fog gives me such a good excuse for begging your
indulgence. The chances are I should only lose myself in an inferno.'

'Doesn't it strike you that you take an advantage of me, as you did
once before? I make no pretence of equalling you in muscular strength,
yet you try to hold me by force.'

He divined in her pleasure akin to his own, the delight of conflict.
Otherwise, she would never have spoken thus.

'Yes, it is true. Love revives the barbarian; it wouldn't mean much if
it didn't. In this one respect I suppose no man, however civilized,
would wish the woman he loves to be his equal. Marriage by capture
can't quite be done away with. You say you have not the least love for
me; if you had, should I like you to confess it instantly? A man must
plead and woo; but there are different ways. I can't kneel before you
and exclaim about my miserable unworthiness--for I am not unworthy of
you. I shall never call you queen and goddess--unless in delirium, and
I think I should soon weary of the woman who put her head under my
foot. Jus