conformably, and do the millinery themselves. And I know they say their
prayers of a night. That I know, if that's a comfort to ye, and it
should be, Robert. For pray, and you can't go far wrong; and it's
particularly good for girls. I'll say no more."

At the dinner-table, Rhoda was not present. Mr. Fleming fidgeted,
blamed her and excused her, but as Robert appeared indifferent about her
absence, he was confirmed in his idea that Dahlia attracted his fancy.

They had finished dinner, and Master Gammon had risen, when a voice
immediately recognized as the voice of Anthony Hackbut was heard in the
front part of the house. Mr. Fleming went round to him with a dismayed
face.

"Lord!" said Mrs. Sumfit, "how I tremble!"

Robert, too, looked grave, and got away from the house. The dread of
evil news of Dahlia was common to them all; yet none had mentioned it,
Robert conceiving that it would be impertinence on his part to do so;
the farmer, that the policy of permitting Dahlia's continued residence
in London concealed the peril; while Mrs. Sumfit flatly defied the
threatening of a mischance to one so sweet and fair, and her favourite.
It is the insincerity of persons of their class; but one need not lay
stress on the wilfulness of uneducated minds. Robert walked across the
fields, walking like a man with an object in view. As he dropped
into one of the close lanes which led up to Wrexby Hall, he saw Rhoda
standing under an oak, her white morning-dress covered with sun-spots.
His impulse was to turn back, the problem, how to speak to her, not
being settled within him. But the next moment his blood chilled; for he
had perceived, though he had not felt simultaneously, that two gentlemen
were standing near her, addressing her. And it was likewise manifest
that she listened to them. These presently raised their hats and
disappeared. Rhoda came on toward Robert.

"You have forgotten your dinner," he said, with a queer sense of shame
at dragging in the mention of that meal.

"I have been too happy to eat," Rhoda replied.

Robert glanced up the lane, but she gave no heed to this indication, and
asked: "Has uncle come?"

"Did you expect him?"

"I thought he would come."

"What has made you happy?"

"You will hear from uncle."

"Shall I go and hear what those--"

Robert checked himself, but it would have been better had he spoken
out. Rhoda's face, from a light of interrogation, lowered its look to
contempt.

She did