“In plain words, Mr. Widdowson thinks he has cause for jealousy?”
“Yes, I understand Monica to mean that.”
Rhoda’s face had grown very dark. She moved her hands nervously.
“But—you don’t think she could deceive him?”
“Oh, I can’t think that!” replied Miss Vesper, with much earnestness. “But what I couldn’t help fearing, after I saw her last, was that she might almost be tempted to leave her husband. She spoke so much of freedom—and of a woman’s right to release herself if she found her marriage was a mistake.”
“I am so grateful to you for telling me all this. We must try to help her. Of course I will make no mention of you, Miss Vesper. Then you are really under the impression that there’s some one she—prefers to her husband?”
“I can’t help thinking there is,” admitted the other very solemnly. “I was so sorry for her, and felt so powerless. She cried a little. All I could do was to entreat her not to behave rashly. I thought her sister ought to know—”
“Oh, Miss Madden is useless. Monica cannot look to her for advice or support.”
After this conversation Rhoda passed a very unquiet night, and gloom appeared in her countenance for the next few days.
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.”