ossible significance which fired Rhoda with
resentment.

Her arrival at Mrs. Cosgrove's was too late. Monica had been there said
the hostess, but had left nearly half an hour ago.

Rhoda's instant desire was to go on to Bayswater, and somehow keep
watch near the flats where Barfoot lived. Monica might be there. Her
coming forth from the building might be detected.

But the difficulty of the understanding, and, still more, a dread of
being seen hovering about that quarter, checked her purpose as soon as
it was formed. She returned home, and for an hour or two kept in
solitude.

'What has happened?' asked Miss Barfoot, when they at length met.

'Happened? Nothing that I know of.'

'You look very strange.'

'Your imagination. I have been packing; perhaps it's from stooping over
the trunk.'

This by no means satisfied Mary, who felt that things mysterious were
going on about her. But she could only wait, repeating to herself that
the grand _denouement_ decidedly was not far off.

At nine o'clock sounded the visitor's bell. If, as she thought likely,
the caller was Everard, Miss Barfoot decided that she would disregard
everything but the dramatic pressure of the moment, and leave those two
alone together for half an hour. Everard it was; he entered the
drawing-room with an unusual air of gaiety.

'I have been in the country all day,' were his first words; and he went
on to talk of trivial things--the doings of a Cockney excursion party
that had come under his notice.

In a few minutes Mary made an excuse for absenting herself. When she
was gone, Rhoda looked steadily at Barfoot, and asked--

'Have you really been out of town?'

'Why should you doubt it?'

'As I told you.

She averted her look. After examining her curiously, Everard came and
stood before her.

'I want to ask your leave to meet you somewhere during these next three
weeks. At any point on your route. We could have a day's ramble
together, and then--say good-bye.'

'The lake country is free to you, Mr. Barfoot.'

'But I mustn't miss you. You will leave Seascale to-morrow week?'

'At present I think so. But I can't restrict myself by any agreement.
Holiday must be a time of liberty.'

They looked at each other--she with a carelessness which was all but
defiance, he with a significant smile.

'To-morrow week, then, perhaps we may meet again.'

Rhoda made no reply, beyond a movement of her eyebrows, as if to
express indifference.

'I