"I recognize your old fierce logic of justice. Haven't you learned yet that one must give and take a good deal in this world, to get along smoothly? No charge the man can ever make will equal what the broken phaeton is worth to me, Rotha."
CHAPTER XXXI.
DISCUSSIONS.
The sitting room, when they came to it after supper, looked as pleasant as a hotel sitting room could. It was but a bare apartment, after the fashion of country hotels; however it was filled with the blaze of a good fire, and that gives a glimmer of comfort anywhere. Moreover it was a private room; they had it to themselves. Now what next? thought Rotha.
Mr. Southwode put a chair for her, gave a little dressing to the fire, and then stood by the mantel-piece with his back towards it, so that his face was in shadow. Probably he was considering Rotha's face, into which the fire shone full. For it was a pleasant thing to look at, with its brightness just now softened by a lovely veil of modesty, and a certain unmistakeable blessedness of content lurking in the corners of the mouth and the lines of the brow. It met all the requirements of a fastidious man. There was sense, dignity, refinement, sensitiveness, and frankness; and the gazer almost forgot what he wanted to do, in the pleasure of looking. Rotha had time to wonder more than once "what next?"
"It seems to me we have a great deal to talk about, Rotha," Mr. Southwode said at last. "And not much time. What comes first?"
"I suppose," said Rotha, "the first thing is, that I must go back to school."
"I suppose you must!" he said. There was an accent about it that made
Rotha laugh.
"Why I must of course!" she said. "I do not know anything;—only the beginnings of things."
"Yes," repeated Mr. Southwode, "for a year you must go, I suppose. For a year.— After that, I will not wait any longer. You shall do the rest of your studying with me."