‘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 compassion—­’

‘I felt no compassion.’

’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 Bell a 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 noble character.’

’I wish only to be honest.  Where you felt compassion 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—­’