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Updated: June 9, 2025
The tired horse clattered upon the hard highway and clouds gathered for a night of storm. As Miss Barfoot's eye fell on the letters brought to her at breakfast-time, she uttered an exclamation, doubtful in its significance. Rhoda Nunn, who rarely had a letter from any one, looked up inquiringly. 'I am greatly mistaken if that isn't my cousin Everard's writing. I thought so. He is in London.
There was a chance, it seemed to her, that during Miss Barfoot's absence Everard might come to the house. Mary had written to him; he would know that she was away. What better opportunity, if he had not dismissed her memory from his thoughts? Every evening she made herself ready to receive a possible visitor. She took thought for her appearance.
If Monica were in danger at all, it was, he felt convinced, from that quarter. The subject of his wife's intimate dialogue with Barfoot at the Academy still remained a mystery to him. He put faith in her rebellious declaration that every word might have been safely repeated in his hearing, but, be the matter what it might, the manner of Barfoot's talk meant evil.
Miss Barfoot's dinner-hour was seven o'clock; she and Rhoda, when alone, rarely sat for more than half an hour at table, and in this summer season they often went out together at sunset to enjoy a walk along the river. This evening they had returned only a few minutes before Everard's ring sounded at the door. 'I shouldn't wonder if that is the young man.
I can't decide so suddenly. This was disingenuous, and she felt humiliated by her subterfuge. Anything but a sudden decision was asked of her. Before leaving Chelsea she had 'foreseen this moment, and had made preparations for the possibility of never returning to Miss Barfoot's house knowing the nature of the proposal that would be offered to her.
And Bevis, such a frank, good-hearted fellow, could not by any possibility fail in respect to her. The objections were all cant, and cant of the worst kind. She would not be a slave of such ignoble prejudices. 'You haven't made Mr. Barfoot's acquaintance yet? she asked. 'No, I haven't. There seems to have been no opportunity. Did you seriously wish me to know him?
His ears were small, and of the ideal contour; the hand, too, thus displayed, was a fine example of blended strength and elegance. Rhoda came in, so quietly that she was able to observe the guest before he had detected her presence. The movement of Miss Barfoot's eyes first informed him that another person was in the room.
Widdowson was ashamed to offer an objection; he much disliked her going there alone, but disliked equally the thought of accompanying her, for at Miss Barfoot's he could not pretend to sit, stand, or converse with ease. It happened that Mrs. Cosgrove was again calling.
Where were you this afternoon? You were watched every step of the way from here to that place where you have made yourself a base, vile, unclean creature . 'I am not that! Your spies have misled you. 'Misled? Didn't you go to that man Barfoot's door and knock there? And because you were disappointed, didn't you wait about, and go there a second time? 'What if I did?
In the first-class carriage which they entered there was no other passenger as far as Barfoot's station. He could not resist the temptation to use rather an intimate tone, though one that was quite conventional, in the hope that he might discover something of Mrs. Widdowson's mind. He began by asking whether she thought it a good Academy this year.
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