"I’ve hardly seen a wink of her since I came back. Yet somehow, Madge, I find her terrible interesting." "She’s a fine character, Bartley." "Well, when I went up to Barnstaple for three months after the fight, I did two things: I learned a trade, as you know, and I thought a lot off and on of Rhoda Bowden." "Yes." "’Tis something to be anything at all. Now, if anybody asks what I am, I can say I am an upholsterer. My uncle was well pleased for me to learn the business, and a very nice girl helped me how to do it. But, somehow, while I looked at her clever hands I thought of Rhoda Bowden." "You ought to tell Rhoda, then--not me." "Why should I? It’s all ridiculous nonsense, of course; but you see I can’t forget the peculiar way we were flung together. If you’d seen her after I kissed her! A princess couldn’t have raged worse. Then--at the fight--time and again I tried to catch her eye; but never once she looked at me--always busy with David. Did you hear that she came down two nights after, all by herself, through the snow, to ask my mother how I was faring?" "No!" "She did; but nobody ever heard it--not even David, I believe. She told my mother not to mention it; and mother began to give her a piece of her mind; but she didn’t wait for that." "’Tis just like her. Something got hold of her to do it, no doubt, while she was walking through the night. She feels kindly to all sorts of dumb things; but she don’t often show any interest in humans--except David, of course." "If I was a dog now, she and me would be very good friends--eh?" "Not a doubt of it. Anyway this is terrible interesting to me, Bartley--for more reasons than you’d guess. David and I were telling together only a week agone. I said that when we were married, we must set to and find Rhoda a husband; but David felt a bit doubtful about it." "Well he may be!" "You think that too?" "I’m going to scrape acquaintance with her when you’re married. Mind I don’t say ’twill go very far. I’m a bit frightened of her yet, and ’twouldn’t be very clever to offer marriage to a female that makes you feel frightened. But a man must get a wife some day or other, I suppose, and my mother’s at me morning, noon and night to find one." "You do tell me wonderful things!" "But for the Lord’s sake keep ’em dark. I can trust you--and only you. You’ve been a rare brick where I was concerned all your life, and ’tis very hard we couldn’t have been married, as I shall always think whoever takes me. Still, you’ll have to go on wishing me well." "Yes, indeed." "Say no more about it then. ’Tis only a moonshiney fancy at best, and very like I’d hate the woman if I knew her better--hate her as much as she does me. You know what a fool I am about ’em. I always see her sponging the blood off David’s face and always catch myself wishing she’d been doing the same for mine. But I should have felt the same silly wish about any girl, no doubt."