rose against him, bit by bit. She had not been too blind to see the
unpleasantness of the fresh facts revealed to her. They did not change
her; on the contrary, drew her to him faster--and she thought she had
completely conquered whatever could rise against him. But when Juliana
Bonner told her that day that Evan was not only the son of the thing,
but the thing himself, and that his name could be seen any day in
Lymport, and that he had come from the shop to Beckley, poor Rosey had a
sick feeling that almost sank her. For a moment she looked back wildly
to the doors of retreat. Her eyes had to feed on Evan, she had to taste
some of the luxury of love, before she could gain composure, and then her
arrogance towards those she called her enemies did not quite return.

'In that letter you told me all--all--all, Evan?'

'Yes, all-religiously.'

'Oh, why did I miss it!'

'Would it give you pleasure?'

She feared to speak, being tender as a mother to his sensitiveness. The
expressive action of her eyebrows sufficed. She could not bear
concealment, or doubt, or a shadow of dishonesty; and he, gaining force
of soul to join with hers, took her hands and related the contents of the
letter fully. She was pale when he had finished. It was some time
before she was able to get free from the trammels of prejudice, but when
she did, she did without reserve, saying: 'Evan, there is no man who
would have done so much.' These little exaltations and generosities bind
lovers tightly. He accepted the credit she gave him, and at that we need
not wonder. It helped him further to accept herself, otherwise could he