Your eyes glow with delight.
To-morrow we shall travel on to Genoa, you and I, more than friends, and infinitely more than the common husband and wife! We have bidden the world go round for _our_ amusement; henceforth it is our occupation to observe and discuss and make merry.
'Is it all in vain?
Rhoda, if you never love me, my life will be poor to what it might have been; and you, you also, will lose something.

In imagination I kiss your hands and your lips.
EVERARD BARFOOT.' There was an address at the head of this letter, but certainly Barfoot expected no reply, and Rhoda had no thought of sending one.

Every night, however, she unfolded the sheet of thin foreign paper, and read, more than once, what was written upon it.

Read it with external calm, with a brow of meditation, and afterwards sat for some time in absent mood.
Would he write again?
Her daily question was answered in rather more than a fortnight.

This time the letter came from Italy; it was lying on the hall table when Rhoda returned from Great Portland Street, and Miss Barfoot was the first to read the address.