It was interpreted by the farmer as her husband's pride. Or, may be, the man who was her husband now had righted her at last, and then flung her off in spite for what he had been made to do.
“I'm not being deceived, Robert?”
“No, sir; upon my soul!”
“I've got that here,” the farmer struck his ribs.
Rhoda came back. “Sister is tired,” she said. “Dahlia is going down home with you, for...I hope, for a long stay.”
“All the better, while home we've got. We mayn't lose time, my girl. Gammon's on 's way to the station now. He'll wait. He'll wait till midnight. You may always reckon on a slow man like Gammon for waitin'. Robert comes too?”
“Father, we have business to do. Robert gives me his rooms here for a little time; his landlady is a kind woman, and will take care of me. You will trust me to Robert.”
“I'll bring Rhoda down on Monday evening,” Robert said to the farmer. “You may trust me, Mr. Fleming.”
“That I know. That I'm sure of. That's a certainty,” said the farmer. “I'd do it for good, if for good was in the girl's heart, Robert. There seems,” he hesitated; “eh, Robert, there seems a something upon us all. There's a something to be done, is there? But if I've got my flesh and blood, and none can spit on her, why should I be asking 'whats' and 'whys'? I bow my head; and God forgive me, if ever I complained. And you will bring Rhoda to us on Monday?”
“Yes; and try and help to make the farm look up again, if Gammon'll do the ordering about.”