"I dare say you won't find the hardship so great," said he.

"Because," she looked up quickly, "I went out one day to meet him? Do
you mean that, Robert? I went to hear news of my sister. I had received
no letters from her. And he wrote to say that he could tell me about
her. My uncle took me once to the Bank. I saw him there first. He
spoke of Wrexby, and of my sister. It is pleasant to inexperienced girls
to hear themselves praised. Since the day when you told me to turn back
I have always respected you."

Her eyelids lowered softly.

Could she have humbled herself more? But she had, at the same time,
touched his old wound: and his rival then was the wooer now, rich, and a
gentleman. And this room, Robert thought as he looked about it, was the
room in which she had refused him, when he first asked her to be his.

"I think," he said, "I've never begged your pardon for the last occasion
of our being alone here together. I've had my arm round you. Don't be
frightened. That's my marriage, and there was my wife. And there's an
end of my likings and my misconduct. Forgive me for calling it to mind."

"No, no, Robert," Rhoda lifted her hands, and, startled by the impulse,
dropped them, saying: "What forgiveness? Was I ever angry with you?"

A look of tenderness accompanied the words, and grew into a dusky crimson
rose under his eyes.

"When you went into the wood, I saw you going: I knew it was for some