“What evil there is, you’re going to mend, Rhoda.”

“I sell myself, then.”

“Hardly so bad as that.  The money will come from you instead of from your uncle.”

Rhoda bent forward in her chair, with her elbows on her knees, like a man brooding.  Perhaps, it was right that the money should come from her.  And how could she have hoped to get the money by any other means?  Here at least was a positive escape from perplexity.  It came at the right moment; was it a help divine?  What cowardice had been prompting her to evade it?  After all, could it be a dreadful step that she was required to take?

Her eyes met Robert’s, and he said startlingly:  “Just like a woman!”

“Why?” but she had caught the significance, and blushed with spite.

“He was the first to praise you.”

“You are brutal to me, Robert.”

“My name at last!  You accused me of that sort of thing before, in this room.”

Rhoda stood up.  “I will wish you good night.”

“And now you take my hand.”

“Good night,” they uttered simultaneously; but Robert did not give up the hand he had got in his own.  His eyes grew sharp, and he squeezed the fingers.

“I’m bound,” she cried.

“Once!” Robert drew her nearer to him.

“Let me go.”

“Once!” he reiterated.  “Rhoda, as I’ve never kissed you—­once!”

“No:  don’t anger me.”

“No one has ever kissed you?”

“Never.”

“Then, I—­” His force was compelling the straightened figure.

Had he said, “Be mine!” she might have softened to his embrace; but there was no fire of divining love in her bosom to perceive her lover’s meaning.  She read all his words as a placard on a board, and revolted from the outrage of submitting her lips to one who was not to be her husband.  His jealousy demanded that gratification foremost.  The “Be mine!” was ready enough to follow.

“Let me go, Robert.”

She was released.  The cause for it was the opening of the door.  Anthony stood there.

A more astounding resemblance to the phantasm of a dream was never presented.  He was clad in a manner to show forth the condition of his wits, in partial night and day attire:  one of the farmer’s nightcaps was on his head, surmounted by his hat.  A confused recollection of the necessity for trousers, had made him draw on those garments sufficiently to permit of the movement of his short legs, at which point their subserviency to the uses ended.  Wrinkled with incongruous clothing from head to foot, and dazed by the light, he peered on them, like a mouse magnified and petrified.

“Dearest uncle!” Rhoda went to him.

Anthony nodded, pointing to the door leading out of the house.

“I just want to go off—­go off.  Never you mind me.  I’m only going off.”

“You must go to your bed, uncle.”