Whether or not he intended a contrast to these homely projects, Barfoot presently began to talk of travel on a grander scale.  When he next left England, he should go by the Orient Express right away to Constantinople.  His cousin asked questions about the Orient Express, and he supplied her with details very exciting to the imagination of any one who longs to see the kingdoms of the earth—­ as undoubtedly Rhoda did.  The very name, Orient Express, has a certain sublimity, such as attaches, more or less, to all the familiar nomenclature of world-transits.  He talked himself into fervour, and kept a watch on Rhoda’s countenance.  As also did Miss Barfoot.  Rhoda tried to appear unaffected, but her coldness betrayed its insincerity.

The next day, when work at Great Portland Street was just finished, she fell into conversation with Mildred Vesper.  Miss Barfoot had an engagement to dine out that evening, and Rhoda ended by inviting Milly to come home with her to Chelsea.  To Milly this was a great honour; she hesitated because of her very plain dress, but easily allowed herself to be persuaded when she saw that Miss Nunn really desired her company.

Before dinner they had a walk in Battersea Park.  Rhoda had never been so frank and friendly; she induced the quiet, unpretending girl to talk of her early days, her schools, her family.  Remarkable was Milly’s quiet contentedness; not long ago she had received an increase of payment from Miss Barfoot, and one would have judged that scarcely a wish now troubled her, unless it were that she might see her scattered brothers and sisters, all of whom, happily, were doing pretty well in the struggle for existence.

‘You must feel rather lonely in your lodgings sometimes?’ said Rhoda.

’Very rarely.  In future I shall have music in the evening.  Our best room has been let to a young man who has a violin, and he plays “The Blue Bells of Scotland”—­not badly.’

Rhoda did not miss the humorous intention, veiled, as usual, under a manner of extreme sedateness.

‘Does Mrs. Widdowson come to see you?’

‘Not often.  She came a few days ago.’

‘You go to her house sometimes?’

’I haven’t been there for several months.  At first I used to go rather frequently, but—­it’s a long way.’

To this subject Rhoda returned after dinner, when they were cosily settled in the drawing-room.

’Mrs. Widdowson comes here now and then, and we are always very glad to see her.  But I can’t help thinking she looks rather unhappy.’

‘I’m afraid she does,’ assented the other gravely.

’You and I were both at her wedding.  It wasn’t very cheerful, was it?  I had a disagreeable sense of bad omens all the time.  Do you think she is sorry?’

‘I’m really afraid she is.’

Rhoda observed the look that accompanied this admission.

’Foolish girl!  Why couldn’t she stay with us, and keep her liberty?  She doesn’t seem to have made any new friends.  Has she spoken to you of any?’