“What do the words matter?”
“That was not what you said.”
He watched the agitation of her features, until his gaze seemed to compel her to move. She stepped towards the fireplace, and moved a little screen that stood too near the fender.
“Why do you want me to repeat exactly what I said?” Everard asked, rising and following her.
“You speak of the “perfect day.” Didn’t the day’s perfection end before there was any word of marriage?”
He looked at her with surprise. She had spoken without turning her face towards him; it was visible now only by the glow of the fire. Yes, what she said was true, but a truth which he had neither expected nor desired to hear. Had the new revelation prepared itself?
“Who first used the word, Rhoda?”
“Yes; I did.”
There was silence. Rhoda stood unmoving, the fire’s glow upon her face, and Barfoot watched her.
“Perhaps,” he said at length, “I was not quite serious when I—”