And now, at this inauspicious hour, and fired thereto by a successful dinner and an excellent opportunity, the lover offered himself again. Chance so to do was deliberately made by Madge. She planned with David to leave her sister-in-law and the visitor, and, before Rhoda could avoid the trap, Bartley and she were alone together in the parlour. "Keep Bartley in good spirits till I come back, Rhoda," said Margaret suddenly; "I must take my medicine, else doctor will be vexed when he calls again." She hurried off, and as David had already gone out, man and maid found themselves alone. Rhoda frowned; Bartley pulled himself together and wished he had taken half-a-pint less of the bottled porter. Each in secret heart was planning speech, and Rhoda, not guessing that he had ever again thought of her as a wife, after her definite reply to his proposal, wondered now if she might reprove Mr. Crocker himself for his folly on the island. Her object was not the welfare of the man. She was thinking a little for Margaret and a great deal for David. She knew surely what David must have said had he crossed the bridge when she did. But to speak to David about it appeared impossible, for he brooked no criticism of Margaret even from her; and to approach Madge seemed equally out of the question in Rhoda’s view. But here was an opportunity to speak directly to the offender himself; for it could not but be that Bartley had led Margaret into the lapse of self-respect with the sandwiches. Rhoda’s mind swiftly traced this path, and she was preparing to speak when her companion began to talk. His conversation related to a very different matter, and for some time the woman found little opportunity. Mr. Crocker had picked up a photograph album and was gazing at the picture of the Bowden family taken at Tavistock in their full and imposing completeness before David’s marriage. "My word!" he said, "that’s a proper piece of work sure enough. Let’s see--father and mother--boys of all sizes, your married sister, you and David, and Dorcas and Joshua. I hope you’ve made it up with Dorcas, Miss Rhoda?" She flushed. "You’ll do well to mind your own business," she said. He shut the book and put it on the table. It rested upon a red and yellow wool mat, and he was careful to place it exactly in the middle. "You’re right," he answered. "When aren’t you right? I oughtn’t to have said that. It’s not my place to dictate to you--quite the reverse. I’m sorry." She did not reply and he spoke again. "But my own business is different. I can mind that, and it’s time I thought a bit more about it. Not that ’tis ever out of my thoughts really; yet life comes between a man and his deepest desires sometimes, and life--and death--has stood between me and the first business of my life lately." "Has it?" she said in an indifferent voice. "You know it has, Rhoda. You know what I’ve been through. You came to the graveside of my dear mother at my express wish--"