to
whom I am bound by any kind of obligation.'

A long wave rolled up, broke, and retreated, whilst Rhoda stood in
silent uncertainty.

'I must put the question in another way. During the past month--the
past three months--have you made profession of love--have you even
pretended love--to any woman?'

'To no woman whatever,' he answered firmly.

'That satisfies me.'

'If I knew what is in your mind!' exclaimed Everard, laughing. 'What
sort of life have you imagined for me? Is this the result of Mary's
talk?'

'Not immediately.'

'Still, she planted the suspicion. Believe me, you have been altogether
mistaken. I never was the kind of man Mary thought me. Some day you
shall understand more about it--in the meantime my word must be enough.
I have no thought of love for any woman but you. Did I frighten you
with those joking confessions in my letters? I wrote them purposely--as
you must have seen. The mean, paltry jealousies of women such as one
meets every day are so hateful to me. They argue such a lack of brains.
If I were so unfortunate as to love a woman who looked sour when I
praised a beautiful face. I would snap the bond between us like a bit
of thread. But you are not one of those poor creatures.'

He looked at her with some gravity.

'Should you think me a poor creature if I resented any kind of
unfaithfulness?--whether love, in any noble sense, had part in it or
not?'

'No. That is the reasonable understanding between man and wife. If I
exact fidelity from you, and certainly I should, I must consider myself
under the same obligation.'

'You say "man or wife." Do you say it with the ordinary meaning?'

'Not as it applies to us. You know what I mean when I ask you to be my
wife. If we cannot trust each other without legal bonds, any union
between us would be unjustified.'

Suppressing the agitation which he felt, he awaited her answer. They
could still read each other's faces perfectly in a pale yellow to light
from across the sea. Rhoda's manifested an intense conflict.

'After all, you doubt of your love for me?' said Barfoot quietly.

That was not her doubt. She loved with passion, allowing herself to
indulge the luxurious emotion as never yet. She longed once more to
feel his arms about her. But even thus she could consider the vast
issues of the step to which she was urged. The temptation to yield was
very strong, for it seemed to her an easier and a nobler thing to
proclaim her emancipati