Supper was long since over for the family; the two had the great dining hall to themselves. It was the room in which Rotha had taken her solitary breakfast the morning of her arrival. Now as she and her companion took their seats at one of the small tables, it seemed to the girl that she had got into an enchanted country. Aladdin's vaults of jewels were not a pleasanter place in his eyes, than this room to her to-night. And she had not to take care even of her supper; care of every sort was gone. One thing however was on Rotha's mind.
"Mr. Southwode," she said as soon as they had placed themselves,—"it was not your fault, all that about the phaeton."
"No."
"Then you ought not to pay for it."
"It would be more loss to this poor man, than to me, Rotha, I fancy."
"Yes, but right is right. Making a present is one thing; paying an unjust charge is another. It is allowing that you were to blame."
"I do not know that it is unjust. And peace is worth paying for, if the phaeton is not."
"How much do you suppose it will be?"
"I do not know," he said laughing a little. "Are you anxious, about it?"
Rotha coloured up brightly. "It seems like allowing that you were in the wrong," she said. "And the man was very impertinent."