ughed.

'Some day, Rhoda, you shall satisfy mine.'

'Yes--if we live long enough.'

What degree of blame might have attached to Barfoot, Rhoda did not care
to ask herself; she thought no more of the story. Of course there must
have been other such incidents in his career; morally he was neither
better nor worse than men in general. She viewed with contempt the
women who furnished such opportunities; in her judgment of the male
offenders she was more lenient, more philosophical, than formerly.

She had gained her wish, had enjoyed her triumph. A raising of the
finger and Everard Barfoot would marry her. Assured of that, she felt a
new contentment in life; at times when she was occupied with things as
far as possible from this experience, a rush of joy would suddenly fill
her heart, and make her cheek glow. She moved among people with a
conscious dignity quite unlike that which had only satisfied her need
of distinction. She spoke more softly, exercised more patience, smiled
where she had been wont to scoff. Miss Nunn was altogether a more
amiable person.

Yet, she convinced herself, essentially quite unchanged. She pursued
the aim of her life with less bitterness, in a larger spirit, that was
all. But pursued it, and without fear of being diverted from the
generous path.

CHAPTER XVIII

A REINFORCEMENT

Throughout January, Barfoot was endeavouring to persuade his brother
Tom to leave London, where the invalid's health perceptibly grew worse.
Doctors were urgent to the same end, but ineffectually; for Mrs.
Thomas, though she professed to be amazed at her husband's folly in
remaining where he could not hope for recovery, herself refused to
accompany him any whither. This pair had no children. The lady always
spoke of herself as a sad sufferer from mysterious infirmities, and
had, in fact, a tendency to hysteria, which confused itself
inextricably with the results of evil nurture and the impulses of a
disposition originally base; nevertheless she made a figure in a
certain sphere of vulgar wealth, and even gave opportunity to
scandalous tongues. Her husband, whatever his secret thought, would
hear nothing against her; his temper, like Everard's, was marked with
stubbornness, and after a good deal of wrangling he forbade his brother
to address him again on the subject of their disagreement.

'Tom is dying,' wrote Everard, early in February, to his cousin in
Queen's Road. 'Dr. Swain assures me that unless