’What you mean by saying you only behaved “foolishly,” I can’t understand.’

’Perhaps not, and I can’t explain as I once did in telling the story to a man, a friend of mine.  But however strict your moral ideas, you will admit that a girl of thoroughly bad character isn’t a subject for the outcry that was raised about Miss Amy Drake.  By taking a little trouble I could have brought things to light which would have given worthy Mrs. Goodall and cousin Mary a great shock.  Well, that’s enough.  I have never pretended to sanctity; but, on the other hand, I have never behaved like a scoundrel.  You charge me, deliberately, with being a scoundrel, and I defend myself as best I can.  You argue that the man who would mislead an innocent girl and then cast her off is more likely than not to be guilty in a case like this of Mrs. Widdowson, when appearances are decidedly against him.  There is only my word in each instance.  The question is—­Will you accept my word?’

For a wonder, their privacy was threatened by the approach of two men who were walking this way from Seascale.  Voices in conversation caused Rhoda to look round; Barfoot had already observed the strangers.

‘Let us go up on to the higher sand,’ he said.

Without reply Rhoda accompanied him, and for several minutes they exchanged no word.  The men, talking and laughing loudly, went by; they seemed to be tourists of a kind that do not often trouble this quiet spot on the coast; their cigars glowed in the dusk.

‘After all this, what have you to say to me, Rhoda?’

‘Will you please to give me your cousin’s letter?’ she said coldly.

’Here it is.  Now you will go back to your lodgings, and sit with that letter open before you half through the night.  You will make yourself unutterably wretched, and all for what?’

He felt himself once more in danger of weakness.  Rhoda, in her haughty, resentful mood, was very attractive to him.  He was tempted to take her in his arms, and kiss her until she softened, pleaded with him.  He wished to see her shed tears.  But the voice in which she now spoke to him was far enough from tearfulness.

‘You must prove to me that you have been wrongly suspected.’

Ah, that was to be her line of conduct.  She believed her power over him was absolute.  She stood on her dignity, would bring him to supplication, would give him all the trouble she could before she professed herself satisfied.

‘How am I to prove it?’ he asked bluntly.

’If there was nothing wrong between you and Mrs. Widdowson, there must be some very simple explanation of her coming to your rooms and being so anxious to see you.’

‘And is it my business to discover that explanation?’

‘Can it be mine?’

’It must either be yours, Rhoda, or no one’s.  I shall take no single step in the matter.’

The battle was declared.  Each stood at full height, pertinacious, resolved on victory.