"I should do it any way. It's the straightest thing."

"I daresay, dear, in your friendships it is. But I think you can hardly
judge of this. You do not know Dr. Cautley as I do."

"No," said Rhoda meekly, "perhaps I don't." Not for worlds would she have
destroyed that beautiful illusion.

"It has been," continued Miss Quincey, "a very peculiar, a very
interesting relationship. Strange too--considering. If you had asked me
six months ago I should have told you that the thing was impossible, or
rather, that in nine cases out of ten--I mean I should have said it was
highly improbable that Dr. Cautley would take the faintest interest in
me, let alone like me."

"He does like you, dear Miss Quincey, I know he does."

"How do you know?"

"He told me so." (Miss Quincey quivered and a faint flush worked up
through the sallow of her cheek.) "And I'm sure he would be most
distressed to think you were unhappy."

"It is not unhappiness; certainly not unhappiness. On the contrary I have
been happy, quite happy lately. And I think it has been bad for me. I
wasn't used to it. Perhaps, if it had happened five-and-twenty years
ago--Do not misunderstand me, I am merely speaking of friendship, dear;
but it might--I mean I might--"