When Barfoot made his next evening call Rhoda did not appear. He sat for some time in pleasant talk with his cousin, no reference whatever being made to Miss Nunn; then at length, beginning to fear that he would not see her, he inquired after her health. Miss Nunn was very well, answered the hostess, smiling.
"Not at home this evening?"
"Busy with some kind of study, I think."
Plainly, the difference between these women had come to a happy end, as Barfoot foresaw that it would. He thought it better to make no mention of his meeting with Rhoda in the gardens.
"That was a very unpleasant affair that I saw your name connected with last week," he said presently.
"It made me very miserable—ill indeed for a day or two."
"That was why you couldn't see me?"
"Yes."
"But in your reply to my note you made no mention of the circumstances."
Miss Barfoot kept silence; frowning slightly, she looked at the fire near which they were both sitting, for the weather had become very cold.
"No doubt," pursued Everard, glancing at her, "you refrained out of delicacy—on my account, I mean."
"Need we talk of it?"
"For a moment, please. You are very friendly with me nowadays, but I suppose your estimate of my character remains very much the same as years ago?"
"What is the use of such questions?"
"I ask for a distinct purpose. You can't regard me with any respect?"
"To tell you the truth, Everard, I know nothing about you. I have no wish to revive disagreeable memories, and I think it quite possible that you may be worthy of respect."
"So far so good. Now, in justice, please answer me another question. How have you spoken of me to Miss Nunn?"
"How can it matter?"
"It matters a good deal. Have you told her any scandal about me?"
"Yes, I have."
Everard looked at her with surprise.
"I spoke to Miss Nunn about you," she continued, "before I thought of your coming here. Frankly, I used you as an illustration of the evils I abominate."
"You are a courageous and plain-spoken woman, cousin Mary," said Everard, laughing a little. "Couldn't you have found some other example?"
There was no reply.
"So," he proceeded, "Miss Nunn regards me as a proved scoundrel?"
"I never told her the story. I made known the general grounds of my dissatisfaction with you, that was all."
"Come, that's something. I'm glad you didn't amuse her with that unedifying bit of fiction."
"Fiction?"
"Yes, fiction," said Everard bluntly. "I am not going into details; the thing's over and done with, and I chose my course at the time. But it's as well to let you know that my behaviour was grossly misrepresented. In using me to point a moral you were grievously astray. I shall say no more. If you can believe me, do; if you can't, dismiss the matter from your mind."
There followed a silence of some moments. Then, with a perfectly calm manner, Miss Barfoot began to speak of a new subject. Everard followed her lead. He did not stay much longer, and on leaving asked to be remembered to Miss Nunn.
