“Really? Do you know any man that would dream of marrying her?”
“Perhaps not, at present.”
It was clear that Miss Barfoot stood in some danger of becoming subordinate to her more vehement friend. Her little body, for all its natural dignity, put her at a disadvantage in the presence of Rhoda, who towered above her with rather imperious stateliness. Her suavity was no match for Rhoda’s vigorous abruptness. But the two were very fond of each other, and by this time thought themselves able safely to dispense with the forms at first imposed by their mutual relations.
“If she marry at all,” declared Miss Nunn, “she will marry badly. The family is branded. They belong to the class we know so well—with no social position, and unable to win an individual one. I must find a name for that ragged regiment.”
Miss Barfoot regarded her friend thoughtfully.
“Rhoda, what comfort have you for the poor in spirit?”
“None whatever, I’m afraid. My mission is not to them.”
After a pause, she added,—
“They have their religious faith, I suppose; and it’s answerable for a good deal.”
“It would be a terrible responsibility to rob them of it,” remarked the elder woman gravely.