“I don’t know. I haven’t heard of his expressing such a wish. I can’t see that you are called upon to take any trouble about Mr. Barfoot. He ought to be able to protect his own reputation.”
“Has he done so?” Monica asked eagerly. “Did you believe him when he denied—”
“But what does it matter whether I believed him or not?”
“He would think it mattered a great deal.”
“Mr. Barfoot would think so? Why?”
“He told me how much he wished to have your good opinion That is what we used to talk about. I don’t know why he took me into his confidence. It happened first of all when we were going by train—the same train, by chance—after we had both been calling here. He asked me many questions about you, and at last said—that he loved you—or something that meant the same.”
Rhoda’s eyes had fallen.
“After that,” pursued Monica, “we several times spoke of you. We did so when we happened to meet near his rooms—as I have told you. He told me he was going to Cumberland with the hope of seeing you; and I understood him to mean he wished to ask you—”
The sudden and great change in Miss Nunn’s expression checked the speaker. Scornful austerity had given place to a smile, stern indeed, but exultant. There was warmth upon her face; her lips moved and relaxed; she altered her position in the chair as if inclined for more intimate colloquy.
“There was never more than that between us,” pursued Monica with earnestness. “My interest in Mr. Barfoot was only on your account. I hoped he might be successful. And I have come to you because I feared you would believe my husband—as I see you have done.”