Rhoda’s voice sank for a moment; her eyes wandered; but she recovered the air of confidence.
“We seemed to have lost you; but before long you will be one of us again. I mean, you will be one of the women who are fighting in woman’s cause. You will prove by your life that we can be responsible human beings—trustworthy, conscious of purpose.”
“Tell me—do you think it right for me to live with my husband when I can’t even regard him as a friend?”
“In that I dare not counsel you. If you can think of him as a friend, in time to come, surely it will be better. But here you must guide yourself. You seem to have made a very sensible arrangement, and before long you will see many things more clearly. Try to recover health—health; that is what you need. Drink in the air of the Severn Sea; it will be a cordial to you after this stifling London. Next summer I shall—I hope I shall be at Cheddar, and then I shall come over to Clevedon—and we shall laugh and talk as if we had never known a care.”
“Ah, if that time were come! But you have done me good. I shall try—”
She rose.
“I mustn’t forget,” said Rhoda, without looking at her, “that I owe you thanks. You have done what you felt was right in spite of all it cost you; and you have very greatly relieved my mind. Of course it is all a secret between us. If I make it understood that a doubt is no longer troubling me I shall never say how it was removed.”
“How I wish I had come before.”
“For your own sake, if I have really helped you, I wish you had. But as for anything else—it is much better as it is.”
And Rhoda stood with erect head, smiling her smile of liberty. Monica did not dare to ask any question. She moved up to her friend, holding out both hands timidly.