Rhoda’s voice signified a conflict of feeling.  Had she been disinterested her opinion would not have wavered for a moment; she would have declared that the wife’s inclination must be the only law in such a case.  As it was, she could only regard Monica with profound mistrust and repugnance.  The story of decisive evidence kept back seemed to her only a weak woman’s falsehood—­a fiction due to shame and despair.  Undoubtedly it would give some vague relief to her mind if Monica were persuaded to go to Clevedon, but she could not bring herself to think of visiting the suffering woman.  Whatever the end might be, she would have not part in bringing it about.  Her dignity, her pride, should remain unsullied by such hateful contact.

‘I mustn’t stay longer,’ said Virginia, rising after a painful silence.  ’I am always afraid to be away from her even for an hour; the fear of dreadful things that might happen haunts me day and night.  How glad I shall be when Alice comes!’

Rhoda had no words of sympathy.  Her commiseration for Virginia was only such as she might have felt for any stranger involved in sordid troubles; all the old friendliness had vanished.  Nor would she have been greatly shocked or astonished had she followed Miss Madden on the way to the railway station and seen her, after a glance up and down the street, turn quickly into a public-house, and come forth again holding her handkerchief to her lips.  A feeble, purposeless, hopeless woman; type of a whole class; living only to deteriorate—­

Will!  Purpose!  Was she not in danger of forgetting these watchwords, which had guided her life out of youth into maturity?  That poor creature’s unhappiness was doubtless in great measure due to the conviction that in missing love and marriage she had missed everything.  So thought the average woman, and in her darkest hours she too had fallen among those poor of spirit, the flesh prevailing.  But the soul in her had not finally succumbed.  Passion had a new significance; her conception of life was larger, more liberal; she made no vows to crush the natural instincts.  But her conscience, her sincerity should not suffer.  Wherever destiny might lead, she would still be the same proud and independent woman, responsible only to herself, fulfilling the nobler laws of her existence.

A day or two after this she had guests to dine with her—­Mildred Vesper and Winifred Haven.  Among the girls whom she had helped to educate, these two seemed by far the most self-reliant, the most courageous and hopeful.  In minor details of character they differed widely, and intellectually Miss Haven was far in advance.  Rhoda had a strong desire to observe them as they talked bout the most various subjects; she knew them well, but hoped to find in them some new suggestion of womanly force which would be of help to her in her own struggle for redemption.