“If you mean Dahlia Fleming,” said Robert, “it’d be a base creature that would think of doing harm to her now.”

He had a man’s perception that Edward would hardly have been found in Dahlia’s neighbourhood with evil intentions at this moment, though it was a thing impossible to guess.  Generous himself, he leaned to the more generous view.

“I think your name is Eccles,” said Edward.  “Mr. Eccles, my position here is a very sad one.  But first, let me acknowledge that I have done you personally a wrong.  I am ready to bear the burden of your reproaches, or what you will.  All that I beg is, that you will do me the favour to grant me five minutes in private.  It is imperative.”

Rhoda burst in—­“No, Robert!” But Robert said, “It is a reasonable request;” and, in spite of her angry eyes, he waved her back, and walked apart with Edward.

She stood watching them, striving to divine their speech by their gestures, and letting her savage mood interpret the possible utterances.  It went ill with Robert in her heart that he did not suddenly grapple and trample the man, and so break away from him.  She was outraged to see Robert’s listening posture.  “Lies! lies!” she said to herself, “and he doesn’t know them to be lies.”  The window-blinds in Dahlia’s sitting-room continued undisturbed; but she feared the agency of the servant of the house in helping to release her sister.  Time was flowing to dangerous strands.  At last Robert turned back singly.  Rhoda fortified her soul to resist.

“He has fooled you,” she murmured, inaudibly, before he spoke.

“Perhaps, Rhoda, we ought not to stand in his way.  He wishes to do what a man can do in his case.  So he tells me, and I’m bound not to disbelieve him.  He says he repents—­says the word; and gentlemen seem to mean it when they use it.  I respect the word, and them when they’re up to that word.  He wrote to her that he could not marry her, and it did the mischief, and may well be repented of; but he wishes to be forgiven and make amends—­well, such as he can.  He’s been abroad, and only received Dahlia’s letters within the last two or three days.  He seems to love her, and to be heartily wretched.  Just hear me out; you’ll decide; but pray, pray don’t be rash.  He wishes to marry her; says he has spoken to his father this very night; came straight over from France, after he had read her letters.  He says—­and it seems fair—­he only asks to see Dahlia for two minutes.  If she bids him go, he goes.  He’s not a friend of mine, as I could prove to you; but I do think he ought to see her.  He says he looks on her as his wife; always meant her to be his wife, but things were against him when he wrote that letter.  Well, he says so; and it’s true that gentlemen are situated—­they can’t always, or think they can’t, behave quite like honest men.  They’ve got a hundred things to consider for our one.  That’s my experience, and I know something of the best among ’em.  The question is about this poor young fellow who’s to marry her to-day.  Mr. Blancove talks of giving him a handsome sum—­a thousand pounds—­and making him comfortable—­”