She saw that Bessie had seen her, and to have gone back would have looked cowardly; so she kept on, feeling pretty sure that at that time of day Geoffrey Trethick would not be there.
“I have not been to see you for a long time now, Bessie,” said Rhoda, making an effort to master her emotion and look calm.
“No, miss. My mother has often said she wished you would come. Will you go in and see her?”
Rhoda hesitated.
“Father’s out, miss. He has gone off in the boat with Mr Trethick, to try for pollack. We’re quite alone.”
At the name of Trethick, Rhoda shrank away, but setting her teeth, she determined not to give up like some weak girl. Geoffrey Trethick was nothing to her now, and, as she thought that, a passionate, angry desire to stand face to face with the woman who had robbed her of his love made her take a step towards the door.
Bessie bent down and picked up the baby, which laughed and kicked as she held it in her arms, but Rhoda snatched away her eyes. She hated it, she told herself; and, following Bessie into the gloomy room, she looked towards where Mrs Prawle was wont to sit, but the chair was empty.
“Mother is lying down in the bedroom,” said Bessie. “I’ll tell her you are here, miss.”
As she spoke, Bessie turned aside to place the baby in a pair of extended hands before leaving the place.
Rhoda had not seen who was seated in the darkened portion of the room, but Bessie’s act told her who it was, and turning sharply, her veins tingling, and her head giddy with her anger, she stood face to face with Madge Mullion, the girl she hated in a way that she could not have thought possible.