She wished to have a private interview with Monica, but doubted whether it would in any degree serve her purpose—­that of discovering whether certain suspicions she entertained had actual ground.  Confidence between her and Mrs. Widdowson had never existed, and in the present state of things she could not hope to probe Monica’s secret feelings.  Whilst she still brooded over the difficulty there came a letter for her from Everard Barfoot.  He wrote formally; it had occurred to him that he might be of some slight service, in view of her approaching holiday, if he looked through the guide-books, and jotted down the outline of such a walking-tour as she had in mind.  This he had done, and the results were written out on an enclosed sheet of paper.  Rhoda allowed a day to intervene, then sent a reply.  She thanked Mr. Barfoot sincerely for the trouble he had so kindly taken.  ’I see you limit me to ten miles a day.  In such scenery of course one doesn’t hurry on, but I can’t help informing you that twenty miles wouldn’t alarm me.  I think it very likely that I shall follow your itinerary, after my week of bathing and idling.  I leave on Monday week.’

Barfoot did not call again.  Every evening she sat in expectation of his coming.  Twice Miss Barfoot was away until a late hour, and on those occasions, after dinner, Rhoda sat in complete idleness, her face declaring the troubled nature of ’her thoughts.  On the Sunday before her departure she took a sudden resolve and went to call upon Monica at Herne Hill.

Mrs. Widdowson, she learnt from the servant, had left home about an hour since.

‘Is Mr. Widdowson at home?’

Yes, he was.  And Rhoda waited for some time in the drawing-room until he made his appearance.  Of late Widdowson had grown so careless in the matter of toilet, that an unexpected visit obliged him to hurry through a change of apparel before he could present himself.  Looking upon him for the first time for several months, Rhoda saw the misery was undermining the man’s health.  Words could not have declared his trouble more plainly than the haggard features and stiff, depressed, self-conscious manner.  He fixed his sunken eyes upon the visitor, and smiled, as was plain, only for civility’s sake.  Rhoda did her best to seem at ease; she explained (standing, for he forgot to ask her to be seated) that she was going away on the morrow, and had hoped to see Mrs. Widdowson, who, she was told, had not been very well of late.

‘No, she is not in very good health,’ said Widdowson vaguely.  ’She has gone this afternoon to Mrs. Cosgrove’s—­I think you know her.’

Less encouragement to remain could not have been offered, but Rhoda conceived a hope of hearing something significant if she persevered in conversation.  The awkwardness of doing so was indifferent to her.

‘Shall you be leaving town shortly, Mr. Widdowson?’

’We are not quite sure—­But pray sit down, Miss Nunn.  You haven’t seen my wife lately?’