irst time he compassionated Rhoda. She was brave, and
circumstances had not been kind to her. At this moment, was she not
contending with herself? Was not her honesty, her dignity, struggling
against the impulses of her heart? Rhoda's love had been worth more
than his, and it would be her one love in life. A fatuous reflection,
perhaps; yet every moment's observation seemed to confirm it.

'Well, now,' he said, 'there's the question which we must decide. If
you incline to think that the chance was fortunate--'

She would not speak.

'We must know each other's mind.'

'Ah, that is so difficult!' Rhoda murmured, just raising her hand and
letting it fall.

'Yes, unless we give each other help. Let us imagine ourselves back at
Seascale, down by the waves. (How cold and grim it must be there
to-night!) I repeat what I said then: Rhoda, will you marry me?'

She looked fixedly at him.

'You didn't say that then.'

'What do the words matter?'

'That was not what you said.'

He watched the agitation of her features, until his gaze seemed to
compel her to move. She stepped towards the fireplace, and moved a
little screen that stood too near the fender.

'Why do you want me to repeat exactly what I said?' Everard asked,
rising and following her.

'You speak of the "perfect day." Didn't the day's perfection end before
there was any word of marriage?'

He looked at her with surprise. She had spoken without turning her face
towards him; it was visible now only by the glow of the fire. Yes, what
she said was true, but a truth which he had neither expected nor
desired to hear. Had the new revelation prepared itself?

'Who first used the word, Rhoda?'

'Yes; I did.'

There was silence. Rhoda stood unmoving, the fire's glow upon her face,
and Barfoot watched her.

'Perhaps,' he said at length, 'I was not quite serious when I--'

She turned sharply upon him, a flash of indignation in her eyes.

'Not quite serious? Yes, I have thought that. And were you quite
serious in _anything_ you said?'

'I loved you,' he answered curtly, answering her steady look.

'Yet wanted to see whether--'

She could not finish the sentence; her throat quivered.

'I loved you, that's all. And I believe I still love you.'

Rhoda turned to the fire again.

'Will you marry me?' he asked, moving a step nearer.

'I think you are "not quite serious".'

'I have asked you twice. I ask for the third time.'

'I won't marry you with the