The Odd Women Part 33

Rhoda deigned no reply.

'All the same,' he continued in his gentlest tone, 'it turns out that you have practically done so. If Mary had taken the girl back that despair would most likely never have come upon her. Isn't it natural that Mary should repent of having been guided by you, and perhaps say rather severe things?'

'Natural, no doubt. But it is just as natural for me to resent blame where I have done nothing blameworthy.'

'You are absolutely sure that this is the case?'

'I thought you expressed a conviction that I was in the right?'

There was no smile, but Everard believed that he detected its possibility on the closed lips.

'I have got into the way of always thinking so--in questions of this kind. But perhaps you tend to err on the side of severity. Perhaps you make too little allowance for human weakness.'

'Human weakness is a plea that has been much abused, and generally in an interested spirit.'

This was something like a personal rebuke. Whether she so meant it, Barfoot could not determine. He hoped she did, for the more personal their talk became the better he would be pleased.

'I, for one,' he said, 'very seldom urge that plea, whether in my own defence or another's. But it answers to a spirit we can't altogether dispense with. Don't you feel ever so little regret that your severe logic prevailed?'

'Not the slightest regret.'

Everard thought this answer magnificent. He had antic.i.p.ated some evasion. However inappropriately, he was constrained to smile.

'How I admire your consistency! We others are poor halting creatures in comparison.'

'Mr. Barfoot,' said Rhoda suddenly, 'I have had enough of this. If your approval is sincere, I don't ask for it. If you are practising your powers of irony, I had rather you chose some other person. I will go my way, if you please.'

She just bent her head, and left him.

Enough for the present. Having raised his hat and turned on his heels, Barfoot strolled away in a mood of peculiar satisfaction. He laughed to himself. She was certainly a fine creature--yes, physically as well.

Her out-of-door appearance on the whole pleased him; she could dress very plainly without disguising the advantages of figure she possessed.

He pictured her rambling about the hills, and longed to be her companion on such an expedition; there would be no consulting with feebleness, as when one sets forth to walk with the everyday woman.

What daring topics might come up in the course of a twenty-mile stretch across country! No Grundyism in Rhoda Nunn; no simpering, no mincing of phrases. Why, a man might do worse than secure her for his comrade through the whole journey of life.

Suppose he pushed his joke to the very point of asking her to marry him? Undoubtedly she would refuse; but how enjoyable to watch the proud vigour of her freedom a.s.serting itself! Yet would not an offer of marriage be too commonplace? Rather propose to her to share his life in a free union, without sanction of forms which neither for her nor him were sanction at all. Was it too bold a thought?

Not if he really meant it. Uttered insincerely, such words would be insult; she would see through his pretence of earnestness, and then farewell to her for ever. But if his intellectual sympathy became tinged with pa.s.sion--and did he discern no possibility of that? An odd thing were he to fall in love with Rhoda Nunn. Hitherto his ideal had been a widely different type of woman; he had demanded rare beauty of face, and the charm of a refined voluptuousness. To be sure, it was but an ideal; no woman that approached it had ever come within his sphere.

The dream exercised less power over him than a few years ago; perhaps because his youth was behind him. Rhoda might well represent the desire of a mature man, strengthened by modern culture and with his senses fairly subordinate to reason. Heaven forbid that he should ever tie himself to the tame domestic female; and just as little could he seek for a mate among the women of society, the creatures all surface, with empty pates and vitiated blood. No marriage for him, in the common understanding of the word. He wanted neither offspring nor a 'home'.

Rhoda Nunn, if she thought of such things at all, probably desired a union which would permit her to remain an intellectual being; the kitchen, the cradle, and the work-basket had no power over her imagination. As likely as not, however, she was perfectly content with single life--even regarded it as essential to her purposes. In her face he read chast.i.ty; her eye avoided no scrutiny; her palm was cold.

One does not break the heart of such a woman. Heartbreak is a very old-fas.h.i.+oned disorder, a.s.sociated with poverty of brain. If Rhoda were what he thought her, she enjoyed this opportunity of studying a modern male, and cared not how far he proceeded in his own investigations, sure that at any moment she could bid him fall back. The amus.e.m.e.nt was only just beginning. And if for him it became earnest, why what did he seek but strong experiences?

Rhoda, in the meantime, had gone home. She shut herself in her bedroom, and remained there until the bell rang for dinner.

Miss Barfoot entered the dining-room just before her; they sat down in silence, and through the meal exchanged but a few sentences, relative to a topic of the hour which interested neither of them.

The elder woman had a very unhappy countenance; she looked worn out; her eyes never lifted themselves from the table.

Dinner over, Miss Barfoot went to the drawing-room alone. She had sat there about half an hour, brooding, unoccupied, when Rhoda came in and stood before her.

'I have been thinking it over. It isn't right for me to remain here.

Such an arrangement was only possible whilst we were on terms of perfect understanding.'

'You must do what you think best, Rhoda,' the other replied gravely, but with no accent of displeasure.

'Yes, I had better take a lodging somewhere. What I wish to know is, whether you can still employ me with any satisfaction?'

'I don't employ you. That is not the word to describe your relations with me. If we must use business language, you are simply my partner.'

'Only your kindness put me into that position. When you no longer regard me as a friend, I am only in your employment.'

'I haven't ceased to regard you as a friend. The estrangement between us is entirely of your making.'

Seeing that Rhoda would not sit down, Miss Barfoot rose and stood by the fireplace.

'I can't bear reproaches,' said the former; 'least of all when they are irrational and undeserved.'

'If I reproached you, it was in a tone which should never have given you offence. One would think that I had rated you like a disobedient servant.'

'If _that_ had been possible,' answered Rhoda, with a faint smile, 'I should never have been here. You said that you bitterly repented having given way to me on a certain occasion. That was unreasonable; in giving way, you declared yourself convinced. And the reproach I certainly didn't deserve, for I had behaved conscientiously.'

'Isn't it allowed me to disapprove of what your conscience dictates?'

'Not when you have taken the same view, and acted upon it. I don't lay claim to many virtues, and I haven't that of meekness. I could never endure anger; my nature resents it.'

'I did wrong to speak angrily, but indeed I hardly knew what I was saying. I had suffered a terrible shock. I loved that poor girl; I loved her all the more for what I had seen of her since she came to implore my help. Your utter coldness--it seemed to me inhuman--I shrank from you. If your face had shown ever so little compa.s.sion--'

'I _felt_ no compa.s.sion.'

'No. You have hardened your heart with theory. Guard yourself, Rhoda!

To work for women one must keep one's womanhood. You are becoming--you are wandering as far from the true way--oh, much further than Bella did!'

'I can't answer you. When we argued about our differences in a friendly spirit, all was permissible; now if I spoke my thought it would be mere harshness and cause of embitterment. I fear all is at an end between us. I should perpetually remind you of this sorrow.'

There was a silence of some length. Rhoda turned away, and stood in reflection.

'Let us do nothing hastily,' said Miss Barfoot. 'We have more to think of than our own feelings.'

'I have said that I am quite willing to go on with my work, but it must be on a different footing. The relation between us can no longer be that of equals. I am content to follow your directions. But your dislike of me will make this impossible.'

'Dislike? You misunderstand me wretchedly. I think rather it is you who dislike me, as a weak woman with no command of her emotions.'

Again they ceased from speech. Presently Miss Barfoot stepped forward.

'Rhoda, I shall be away all to-morrow; I may not return to London until Monday morning. Will you think quietly over it all? Believe me, I am not angry with you, and as for disliking you--what nonsense are we talking! But I can't regret that I let you see how painfully your behaviour impressed me. That hardness is not natural to you. You have encouraged yourself in it, and you are warping a very n.o.ble character.'

'I wish only to be honest. Where you felt compa.s.sion I felt indignation.'

'Yes; we have gone through all that. The indignation was a forced, exaggerated sentiment. You can't see it in that light perhaps. But try to imagine for a moment that Bella had been your sister--'