on from social statutes than to announce before
her friends the simple news that she was about to marry. That
announcement would excite something more than surprise. Mary Barfoot
could not but smile with gentle irony; other women would laugh among
themselves; the girls would feel a shock, as at the fall of one who had
made heroic pretences. A sure way of averting this ridicule was by
furnishing occasion for much graver astonishment. If it became known
that she had taken a step such as few women would have dared to
take--deliberately setting an example of new liberty--her position in
the eyes of all who knew her remained one of proud independence.
Rhoda's character was specially exposed to the temptation of such a
motive. For months this argument had been in her mind, again and again
she decided that the sensational step was preferable to a commonplace
renunciation of all she had so vehemently preached. And now that the
moment of actual choice had come she felt able to dare everything--as
far as the danger concerned herself; but she perceived more strongly
than hitherto that not only her own future was involved. How would such
practical heresy affect Everard's position?

She uttered this thought.

'Are you willing, for the sake of this idea, to abandon all society but
that of the very few people who would approve or tolerate what you have
done?'

'I look upon the thing in this way. We are not called upon to declare
our principles wherever we go. If we regard each other as married, why,
we _are_ married. I am no Quixote, hoping to convert the world. It is
between you and me--our own sense of what is reasonable and dignified.'

'But you would not make it a mere deception?'

'Mary would of course be told, and any one else you like.'

She believed him entirely serious. Another woman might have suspected
that he was merely trying her courage, either to assure himself of her
love or to gratify his vanity. But Rhoda's idealism enabled her to take
him literally. She herself had for years maintained an exaggerated
standard of duty and merit; desirous of seeing Everard in a nobler
light than hitherto, she endeavoured to regard his scruple against
formal wedlock as worthy of all respect.

'I can't answer you at once,' she said, half turning away.

'You must. Here and at once.'

The one word of assent would have satisfied him. This he obstinately
required. He believed that it would confirm his love beyond any other
satisf