He could not see her eyes, but she was smiling in a forced way, with her lips close set.

‘As you insisted on speaking,’ she said at length, ’I had no choice but to listen.  It is usual, I think—­if one may trust the novels—­for a woman to return thanks when an offer of this kind has been made to her.  So—­thank you very much, Mr. Barfoot.’

Everard seized a little chair that was close by, planted it beside Rhoda’s, there seated himself and took possession of one of her hands.  It was done so rapidly and vehemently that Rhoda started back, her expression changing from sportive mockery to all but alarm.

‘I will have no such thanks,’ he uttered in a low voice, much moved, a smile making him look strangely stern.  ’You shall understand what it means when a man says that he loves you.  I have come to think your face so beautiful that I am in torment with the desire to press my lips upon yours.  Don’t be afraid that I shall be brutal enough to do it without your consent; my respect for you is stronger even than my passion.  When I first saw you, I thought you interesting because of your evident intelligence—­nothing more; indeed you were not a woman to me.  Now you are the one woman in the world; no other can draw my eyes from you.  Touch me with your fingers and I shall tremble—­that is what my love means.’

She was colourless; her lips, just parted, quivered as the breath panted between them.  She did not try to withdraw her hand.

‘Can you love me in return?’ Everard went on, his face still nearer.  ’Am I anything like this to you?  Have the courage you boast of.  Speak to me as one human being to another, plain, honest words.’

’I don’t love you in the least.  And if I did I would never share your life.’

The voice was very unlike her familiar tones.  It seemed to hurt her to speak.

‘The reason.—­Because you have no faith in me?’

’I can’t say whether I have or not.  I know absolutely nothing of your life.  But I have my work, and no one shall ever persuade me to abandon it.’

’Your work?  How do you understand it?  What is its importance to you?’

’Oh, and you pretend to know me so well that you wish me to be your companion at every moment!’

She laughed mockingly, and tried to draw away her hand, for it was burnt by the heat of his.  Barfoot held her firmly.

’What is your work?  Copying with a type-machine, and teaching others to do the same—­isn’t that it?’

’The work by which I earn money, yes.  But if it were no more than that—­’

‘Explain, then.’

Passion was overmastering him as he watched the fine scorn in her eyes.  He raised her hand to his lips.

‘No!’ Rhoda exclaimed with sudden wrath.  ’Your respect—­oh, I appreciate your respect!’

She wrenched herself from his grasp, and went apart.  Barfoot rose, gazing at her with admiration.