‘That is confusing the point at issue,’ Rhoda exclaimed irritably.  ’Have I ever denied the force of such feelings?  My grief would have blinded me to all larger considerations, of course.  But she was happily not my sister, and I remained free to speak the simple truth about her case.  It isn’t personal feeling that directs a great movement in civilization.  If you were right, I also was right.  You should have recognized the inevitable discord of our Opinions at that moment.’

‘It didn’t seem to me inevitable.’

‘I should have despised myself if I could have affected sympathy.’

‘Affected—­yes.’

’Or have really felt it.  That would have meant that I did not know myself.  I should never again have dared to speak on any grave subject.’

Miss Barfoot smiled sadly.

’How young you are!  Oh, there is far more than ten years between our ages, Rhoda!  In spirit you are a young girl, and I an old woman.  No, no; we will not quarrel.  Your companionship is far too precious to me, and I dare to think that mine is not without value for you.  Wait till my grief has had its course; then I shall be more reasonable and do you more justice.’

Rhoda turned towards the door, lingered, but without looking back, and so left the room.

Miss Barfoot was absent as she had announced, returning only in time for her duties in Great Portland Street on Monday morning.  She and Rhoda then shook hands, but without a word of personal reference.  They went through the day’s work as usual.

This was the day of the month on which Miss Barfoot would deliver her four o’clock address.  The subject had been announced a week ago:  ‘Woman as an Invader.’  An hour earlier than usual work was put aside, and seats were rapidly arranged for the small audience; it numbered only thirteen—­the girls already on the premises and a few who came specially.  All were aware of the tragedy in which Miss Barfoot had recently been concerned; her air of sadness, so great a contrast to that with which she was wont to address them, they naturally attributed to this cause.

As always, she began in the simplest conversational tone.  Not long since she had received an anonymous letter, written by some clerk out of employment, abusing her roundly for her encouragement of female competition in the clerkly world.  The taste of this epistle was as bad as its grammar, but they should hear it; she read it all through.  Now, whoever the writer might be, it seemed pretty clear that he was not the kind of person with whom one could profitably argue; no use in replying to him, even had he given the opportunity.  For all that, his uncivil attack had a meaning, and there were plenty of people ready to urge his argument in more respectable terms.  ’They will tell you that, in entering the commercial world, you not only unsex yourselves, but do a grievous wrong to the numberless men struggling hard for bare sustenance.