_ CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.
So Rose came home at last. Not just the Rose who had left them, now more than two years ago, even in the eyes of her sister. Her brothers thought her greatly changed and improved. She was more womanly, and dignified, and self-reliant, they said, and Graeme assented, wondering and pleased; though it had been the desire of her heart that her sister should come back to her just what she was when she went away.
She would probably have changed quite as much during those two years, had they been passed at home, though they might not have seen it so plainly. But Arthur declared that she had become Americanised to an astonishing degree, not making it quite clear whether he thought that an improvement, indeed not being very clear about it himself. Harry agreed with him, without the reservation; for Harry admired the American ladies, and took in good part Rose's hints and congratulations with regard to a certain Miss Cora Snider, an heiress and a beauty of C---. "A trifle older than Harry," explained she, laughing, aside to Graeme; "but that, of course, is a small matter, comparatively, other things 'being agreeable.'"
"Of course," said Harry, with a shrug that set Graeme's fancy at rest about Miss Cora Snider.
In less time than Graeme at first supposed possible, they fell back into their old ways again. Rose's dignity and self-reliance were for her brothers and her friends generally. With Graeme she was, in a day or two, just what she had been before she went away--a dear child and sister, to be checked and chided, now and then; to be caressed and cared for always; growing, day by day, dearer and fairer to her sister's loving eyes. She was glad to be at home again. She was very fond of Norman and Hilda and their boys, and she had been very happy with them; but there was no one like Graeme, and there was no place like home. So she fell into her old place and ways, and was so exactly the Rosie of old times, that Graeme smiled in secret over the idea of her child having been in danger of being spoiled by admiration or by a love of it. It was quite impossible to believe that a love of pleasure would let her be so content with their quiet life, their household occupations, their unvaried round of social duties and pleasures. Admired she might have been, but it had not harmed her; she had come back to them quite unspoiled, heart-free and fancy-free, Graeme said to herself, with a sense of relief and thankfulness, that grew more assured as the time went on.
"It amuses me very much to hear Arthur say I am changed," said Rose, one day, when the sisters were sitting together. "Why, if I had come home a strong-minded woman and the president of a convention, it would have been nothing to the change that has taken place in Fanny, which I daresay he does not see at all, as a change; he always was rather blind where she was concerned. But what have you being doing to Fanny, Graeme?"
"Rose, my dear," said Graeme, gravely, "Fanny has had a great deal of sickness and suffering, and her change is for the better, I am sure; and, besides, are you not speaking a little foolishly?"
"Well, perhaps so, but not unkindly, as far as Fanny is concerned. For the better! I should think so. But then I fancied that Fanny was just the one to grow peevish in sickness, and ill to do with, as Janet would say; and I confess, when I heard of the arrival of young Arthur, I was afraid, remembering old times, and her little airs, that she might not be easier to live with."
"Now, Rosie, that is not quite kind."
"But it is quite true. That is just what I thought first, and what I said to Norman. I know you said how nice she was, and how sweet, and all that, but I thought that was just your way of seeing things; you never would see Fanny's faults, you know, even at the very first."
Graeme shook her head.
"I think you must have forgotten about the very first. We were both foolish and faithless, then. It has all come right; Arthur is very happy in his wife, though I never thought it could be in those days."
There was a long pause after that, and then Rose said,--
"You must have had a very anxious time, and a great deal to do, when she was so long ill that first winter. I ought to have been here to help you, and I should have been, if I had known."
"I wished for you often, but I did not have too much to do, or to endure. I am none the worse for it all."
"No," said Rose, and she came over and kissed her sister, and then sat down again. Graeme looked very much pleased, and a little surprised. Rose took up her work, and said, with a laugh that veiled something,--
"I think you have changed--improved--almost as much as Fanny, though there was not so much need."
Graeme laughed, too.
"There was more need for improvement than you know or can imagine. I am glad you see any."
"I am anxious about one thing, however, and so is Fanny, I am sure," said Rose, as Fanny came into the room, with her baby in her arms. "I think I see an intention on your part to become stout. I don't object to a certain roundness, but it may be too decided."
"Graeme too stout! How can you say such things, Rosie?" said Fanny, indignantly.
"She is not so slender as when I went away."
"No, but she was too slender then. Arthur thinks she is growing handsomer, and so do I."
"Well, perhaps," said Rose, moving believe to examine Graeme critically; "still I must warn her against future possibilities as to stoutness--and other things."
"It is not the stoutness that displeases her, Fanny," said Graeme, laughing; "it is the middle-aged look that is settling down upon me, that she is discontented with."
"Fanny," said Rose, "don't contradict her. She says that on purpose to be contradicted. A middle-aged look, is it? I dare say it is!"
"A look of contentment with things as they are," said Graeme. "There is a look of expectation on most
young faces, you know, a hopeful look, which too often changes to an anxious look, or look of disappointment, as youth passes away. I mean, of course, with single women. I suppose it is that with me; or, do I look as if I were settling down content with things as they are?"
"Graeme," said her sister, "if some people were to speak like that in my hearing, I should say it sounded a little like affectation."
"I hope it is not politeness, alone, which prevents you from saying it to me?"
"But it is all nonsense, Graeme dear," said Fanny.
"How old are you, Graeme?" said Rose. "Middle-aged, indeed!"
"Rosie, does not ten years seem a long time, to look forward to? Shall you not begin to think yourself middle-aged ten years hence?"
"Certainly not; by no means; I have no such intention, unless, indeed--. But we won't speak about such unpleasant things. Fanny, shan't I take the baby while you do that?"
"If you would like to take him," said Fanny, with some hesitation.
Baby was a subject on which Rose and Fanny had not quite come to a mutual understanding. Rose was not so impressed with the wonderful attractions of her son as Fanny thought she ought to be. Even Graeme had been surprised at her indifference to the charms of her nephew, and expostulated with her on the subject. But Rose had had a surfeit of baby sweetness, and, after Hilda's strong, beautiful boys, Fanny's little, delicate three months' baby was a disappointment to her, and she made no secret of her amusement at the devotion of Graeme, and the raptures of his mother over him. But now, as she took him in her arms, she astonished them with such eloquence of baby-talk as baby had never heard before. Fanny was delighted. Happily Graeme prevented the question that trembled on her lips as to the comparative merits of her nephews, by saying,--
"Well done, Rosie! If only Harry could hear you!"
"I have often wished that Hilda could see and hear you both over this little mortal. You should see Hilda. Does not she preserve her equanimity? Fancy her walking the room for hours with any of her boys, as you did the other night with this one. Not she, indeed, nor any one else, with her permission."
"I thought--I am sure you have always spoken about Hilda as a model mother," said Fanny, doubtfully.
"And a fond mother," said Graeme.
"She
is a model mother; she is fond, but she is wise," said Rose, nodding her head. "I say no more."
"Fanny dear, we shall have to learn of Rose. We are very inexperienced people, I fear," said Graeme, smiling.
"Well, I daresay even I might teach you something. But you should see Hilda and her babies. Her eldest son is three years old, and her second will soon be two, and her daughter is four months. Suppose she had begun by walking all night with each of them, and by humouring every whim?"
And then Rose began her talk with the baby again, saying all sorts of things about the fond foolishness of his little mamma and his Aunt Graeme, that it would not have been at all pretty, she acknowledged, to say to themselves. Graeme listened, smiling, but Fanny looked anxious.
"Rose," said she, "tell me about Hilda's way. I want to have the very best way with baby. I know I am not very wise, but I do wish to learn and to do right!"
Her words and her manner reminded Rose so forcibly, by contrast, of the Fanny whose vanity and self-assertion had been such a vexation so often, that, in thinking of those old times, she forgot to answer her, and sat playing with the child's clasping fingers.
"She thinks I will never be like Hilda," said Fanny, dolefully, to Graeme.
Rose shook her head.
"There are not many like Hilda; but I don't see any reason why you should not be as good a mother as she is, and have as obedient children. You have as good a teacher. No, don't look at Graeme. I know what you mean. She has taught you all the good that is in you. There are more of us who could say the same--except for making her vain. It is this young gentleman, I mean, who is to teach you."
And she began her extraordinary confidences to the child, till Graeme and Fanny were both laughing heartily at her nonsense.
"I'll tell you what, Fanny," said she, looking up in a little. "It is the mother-love that makes one wise, and Solomon has something to do with it. You must take him into your confidence. But, dear me! Think of my venturing to give you good advice, I might be Janet herself."
"But, Rosie, dear," said Graeme, still laughing, "Solomon has nothing to say about such infants as this one."
"Has he not? Well, that is Hilda's mistake, then. She is responsible for my opinions. I know nothing. The wisdom I am dispensing so freely is entirely hers. You must go and see Hilda and her babies, and you will understand all about it."
"I mean to go and see her, not entirely for the sake of her wisdom, however, though it must be wonderful to have impressed you so deeply."
"Yes, it
is wonderful. But you will be in no hurry about going, will you? Two or three years hence will be time enough, I should think. I mean to content myself here for that time, and you are not going there, or anywhere, without me. That is quite decided, whatever arrangements Norman may have made."
"I don't think he will object to your going with me, if Arthur doesn't, and Fanny," said Graeme, smiling.
"Possibly not. But I am not going yet. And no plan that is meant to separate you and me shall prosper," said Rose, with more heat than the occasion seemed to call for, as though the subject had been previously discussed in a manner not to her liking. Graeme looked grave and was silent a moment, then she said,--
"I remember saying almost these very words before we went to Merleville, to Emily's wedding. But you know how differently it turned out for you and me. We will keep together while we can, dear, but we must not set our hearts upon it, or upon any other earthly good, as though we knew best what is for our own happiness."
"Well, I suppose that is the right way to look at it. But I am to be your first consideration this winter, you must remember, and you are to be mine."
"Graeme," said Fanny, earnestly, "I don't think Rose is spoiled in the least."
Fanny made malapropos speeches sometimes still, but they were never unkindly meant now, and she looked with very loving eyes from one sister to the other.
"I hope you did not think Hilda was going to spoil me. Did you?" said Rose, laughing.
"No, not Hilda; and it was not I who thought so, nor Graeme. But Harry said you were admired more than was good for you, perhaps, and--"
Rose shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh! Harry is too wise for anything. I had a word or two with him on that subject myself, the last time he was out at Norman's. You must not mind what Harry says about me, Fanny, dear."
"But, Rose, you are not to think that Harry said anything that was not nice. It was one night when Mr Millar was here, and there was something said about Mr Green. And he thought--one of them thought that you--that he--I have forgotten what was said. What was it, Graeme? You were here as well as I."
"I am very sure there was nothing said that was not nice," said Graeme. "I don't quite remember about it. There was nothing worth remembering or repeating."
"I daresay Harry told you I was a flirt. He told me so, myself, once," said Rose, tossing her head in a way Graeme did not like to see.
"Hush, dear. He said nothing unkind, you may be sure."
"And, now I remember, it was not Harry but Mr Millar who spoke about Mr Green," said Fanny, "and about the 'palatial residence,' and how Rose, if she liked, might--"
Rose moved about impatiently.
"I must say I cannot admire the taste that would permit the discussion of anything of that sort with a stranger," said she, angrily.
"My dear, you are speaking foolishly. There was no such discussion. And if you say anything more on the subject, I shall think that Harry was right when he said you were fond of admiration, and that your conscience is troubling you about something. Here comes nurse for baby. I suppose it is time for his bath, is it mamma?"
Fanny left the room with the child, and, after a few minutes' silence, Rose said, with an effort,--
"Now, Graeme, please tell me what all this is about."
"Dear, there is nothing to tell. I fancy Harry used to think that I was too anxious and eager about your coming home, and wanted to remind me that you were no longer a child, but a woman, who was admired, and who might, by and by, learn to care for some one else, more than for your sister and brothers. But he did not seriously say anything that you need care about. It would have been as well, perhaps, not to have said anything in Mr Millar's presence, since we seem to have fallen a little out of acquaintance with him lately. But Harry has not, and he did not consider, and, indeed, there was nothing said that he might not very well hear."
"It seems it was he who had most to say."
"No. You are mistaken. Fanny did not remember correctly. It was either Arthur or Harry who had something to say about Mr Green. I don't think Charlie had anything to say about it. I am sure he would be the last one willingly to displease me or you. And, really, I don't see why you should be angry about it, dear Rosie."
"I am not angry. Why should I be angry?" But she reddened as she met Graeme's eye. Graeme looked at her in some surprise.
"Harry is--is unbearable sometimes," said Rose. "Fancy his taking me to task about--about his friend--Oh! there is no use talking about it. Graeme, are you going out?"
"Yes, if you like. But, Rose, I think you are hard upon Harry. There must be some misunderstanding. Why! he is as fond and as proud of you as possible. You must not be vain when I say so."
"That does not prevent his being very unreasonable, all the same. However, he seems to have got over it, or forgotten it. Don't let us speak any more about it, Graeme, or think about it either."
But Graeme did think about it, and at first had thoughts of questioning Harry with regard to Rose's cause of quarrel with him, but she thought better of it and did not. Nor did she ever speak about it again to Rose; but it came into her mind often when she saw the two together, and once, when she heard Harry say something to Rose about her distance and dignity, and how uncalled for all that sort of thing was, she would have liked to know to what he was referring to, but she did not ask, for, notwithstanding little disagreements of this kind, they were evidently excellent friends.
How exactly like the old time before Arthur's marriage, and before Will or Harry went away, some of the days were, that followed the coming home of Rose. They seemed like the days even longer ago, Graeme felt, with a sense of rest and peace at her heart unspeakable. For the old content, nay, something better and more abiding had come back to her. The peace that comes after a time of trouble, the content that grows out of sorrow sanctified, are best. Remembering what has gone before, we know how to estimate the depth, and strength, and sweetness--the sharpness of past pain being a measure for the present joy. And, besides, the content that comes to us from God, out of disappointment and sorrow, is ours beyond loss, because it is God-given, and we need fear no evil.
So these were truly peaceful days to Graeme, untroubled by regret for the past, or by anxious fears for the future. They were busy days, too, filled with the occupations that naturally sprung out of happy home life, and agreeable social relations. Rose had been honoured, beyond her deserts, she said, by visits since she came home. These had to be returned, and Graeme, who had fallen off from the performance of such duties, during Rose's absence, and Fanny's illness, took pleasure in going with her. She took real pleasure in many of these visits, sometimes because of the renewal of friendly interest, sometimes for other reasons. The new way in which the character and manner of Rose came out never failed to amuse her. At home, and especially in her intercourse with her, Rose was just what she had been as a child, except the difference that a few added years must make. But it was by no means so in her intercourse with the rest of the world. She had ideas and opinions of her own, and she had her own way of making them known, or of defending them when attacked. There was not much opportunity for seeing this during brief formal visits, but now and then Graeme got a glimpse that greatly amused her. The quiet self-possession with which she met condescending advances, and accepted or declined compliments, the serene air with which she ignored or rebuked the little polite impertinences, not yet out of fashion in fine drawing-rooms, it was something to see. And her perfect unconsciousness of her sister's amusement or its cause was best of all to Graeme. Arthur amused himself with this change in her, also, and had a better opportunity to do so. For Graeme seldom went to large parties, and it was under the chaperonage of Mrs Arthur that Rose, as a general thing, made her appearance in their large and agreeable circle, on occasions of more than usual ceremony. Not that there were very many of these. Fanny was perfectly well now, and enjoyed these gay gatherings in moderation, but they were not so necessary to her happiness as they used to be, and Rose, though she made no secret of the pleasure she took in them, was not unreasonable in her devotion to society. So the winter was rather quiet than otherwise, and Graeme and Rose found themselves with a good deal of leisure time at their disposal.
For true to her first idea of what was for the happiness of her brother's household, Graeme, as Fanny grew stronger, gradually withdrew from the bearing of responsibility where household matters were concerned, and suffered it to fall, as she felt it to be right, on Arthur's wife. Not that she refused to be helpful; either in word or in deed, but it was as much as possible at the bidding of the mistress of the house. It was not always very easy to do, often not by any means so easy as it would have been to go on in the old way, but she was very much in earnest about this thing. It was right that it should be so, for many reasons. The responsibilities, as well as the honour, due to the mistress of the house, were Fanny's. These could not, she being in health and able to bear them, be assumed by her sister without mutual injury. The honour and responsibility could not be separated without danger and loss. All this Graeme tried to make Fanny see without using many words, and she had a more docile pupil than she would have had during the first year of her married-life. For Fanny had now entire confidence in the wisdom and love of her sister, and did her best to profit by her teaching:
It was the same where the child was concerned. While she watched over both with loving care, she hesitated to interfere or to give advice, even in small matters, lest she should lessen in the least degree the young mother's sense of responsibility, knowing this to be the best and surest guide to the wise and faithful performance of a mother's duties. And every day she was growing happier in the assurance that all was coming right with her sister, that she was learning the best of all wisdom, the wisdom of gentleness and self-forgetfulness, and of devotion to the welfare of others, and that all this was bearing fruit in the greater happiness of the household. And besides this, or rather as a result of this, she bade fair to be a notable little house-mother also; a little over-anxious, perhaps, and not very patient with her own failures, or with the failures of others, but still in earnest to attain success, and to be in all things what in the old times, she had only cared to seem.
Though Harry did not now form one of the household, he was with them very often. Mr Millar did not quite fall into the place which Harry's friend Charlie had occupied, but though he said less about his enjoyment of the friendship of their circle, it was evident that it was not because he enjoyed it less than in the old times. He had only changed since then by growing quieter and graver, as they all had done. His brother's determination not to return to Canada had been a great disappointment to him at the time, and he still regretted it very much, but he said little about it, less than was quite natural, perhaps, considering that they had once been such friends. Circumstances had made the brothers strangers during the boyhood of the younger, and it was hard that circumstances should separate them again, just as they had been beginning to know and to value each other. Charlie had hoped for a long time that Allan might come back after a year or two; for his estate was by no means a large one, and he believed that he would soon weary of a life of inactivity, and return to business again. He was still young, and might, with his knowledge and experience, do anything he liked in the way of making money, Charlie thought, and he could not be satisfied with his decision. But Will, who had visited Allan lately, assured Charlie that his brother was settling down to the enjoyment of a quiet country life, and that though he might visit Canada, there was little chance of his ever making that country his home again.
"I should think not, indeed," said Arthur, one night, as they were discussing the matter in connection with Will's last letter. "You don't display your usual good judgment, Charlie, man, where your brother is concerned. Why should he return? He is enjoying now, a comparatively young man, all that you and Harry expect to enjoy after some twenty or thirty years of hard labour--a competency in society congenial to him. Why should he wait for this longer than he need?"
"Twenty or thirty years!" said Harry. "Not if I know it. You are thinking of old times. But I must say I agree with Charlie. It is strange that Mr Ruthven should be content to sit down in comparative idleness, for, of course, the idea of farming his own land is absurd. And to tell you the truth, I never thought him one to be satisfied with a mere competency. I thought him at one time ambitious to become a rich, man--a great merchant."
"It would not be safe or wise to disparage the life and aims of a great merchant in your presence, Harry," said Rose, "but one would think the life of a country gentleman preferable in some respects."
"I don't think Allan aspires to the position of a country gentleman--in the dignified sense in which the term is used where he is. His place is very beautiful, but it is not large enough to entitle him to the position of one of the great landed proprietors."
"Oh! as to that, the extent makes little difference. It is the land that his fathers have held for generations, and that is a thing to be proud of, and to give position, Rose thinks," said Arthur.
"His father never owned it, and his grandfather did not hold it long. It was lost to the name many years ago, and bought back again by Allan's uncle within ten years."
"Yes, with the good money of a good merchant," said Harry.
"And did he make it a condition that he should live on it?" said Arthur.
"No, I think not. Allan never has said any such thing as that to me, or to my mother."
"Still he may think it his duty to live there."
"I don't know. It is not as though it were a large estate, with many tenants, to whom he owed duty and care and all that. I think the life suits him. My mother always thought it was a great disappointment to him to be obliged to leave home when he did to enter upon a life of business. He did not object decidedly. There seemed at the time nothing else for him to do. So he came to Canada."
"I daresay his present life is just the very life he could enjoy most. I wonder that you are so vexed about his staying at home, Charlie."
"I daresay it is selfishness in me. And yet I don't think it is so altogether. I know, at least I am almost sure, that it would be better for him to come here, at least for a time. He might always have the going home to look forward to."
"I cannot imagine how he can content himself there, after the active life he lived on this side of the water; he will degenerate into an old fogey, vegetating there," said Harry.
"But I think you are hard on yourself, Mr Millar, calling it selfishness in you to wish your brother to be near you," said Graeme, smiling. "I could find a much nicer name for it than that."
"I would like him to come for his own sake," said Charlie. "As for me, I was just beginning to know him--to know how superior he is to most men, and then I lost him." He paused a moment--
"I mean, of course, we can see little of each other now, and we shall find it much easier to forget one another than if we had lived together and loved and quarrelled with each other as boys. I shall see him if I go home next summer, and I don't despair of seeing him here for a visit, at least."
"Will says he means to come some time. Perhaps he will come back with you, or with Will himself, when he comes," said Rose.
"Oh! the voyage is nothing; a matter of ten days or less," said Arthur. "It is like living next door neighbours, in comparison to what it was when we came over. Of course he may come any month. I don't understand your desolation, Charlie."
Charlie laughed. "When is Will coming?"
"It does not seem to be decided yet," said Graeme. "He may come in the spring, but if he decides to travel first, as he seems to have an opportunity to do, he will not be here till next autumn, at the soonest. It seems a long time to put it off; but we ought not to grudge the delay, especially as he may never get another chance to go so easily and pleasantly."
"What if Will should think like Mr Ruthven, that a life at home is to be desired? How would you like that, girls?" said Harry.
"Oh! but he never could have the same reason for thinking so. There is no family estate in his case," said Rose, laughing.
"Who knows?" said Arthur. "There may be a little dim kirk and a low-roofed manse waiting him somewhere. That would seem to be the most appropriate inheritance for his father's youngest son. What would you say to that Graeme?"
"I would rather say nothing--think nothing about it," said Graeme, hastily. "It is not likely that could ever happen. It will all be arranged for us, doubtless."
"It was very stupid of you, Harry, to say anything of that sort to Graeme," said Rose. "Now, she will vex herself about her boy, as though it were possible that he could stay there. He never will, I know."
"I shall not vex myself, indeed, Rosie--at least I shall not until I have some better reason for doing so, than Harry's foolish speeches. Mr Millar, you said you might go home next summer. Is that something new? Or is it only new to us?"
"It is possible that I may go. Indeed, it is very likely. I shall know soon."
"It depends on circumstances over which he has no control," said Harry, impressively. "He has my best wishes, and he would have yours, Graeme, I think, if you knew about it."
"He has them, though I don't know about it," said Graeme. "I have confidence in him that he deserves success."
"Yes, it is safe to wish him success--if not in one thing, in another. I am not sure that he quite knows what he wants yet, but I think I know what is good for him."
"Rosie," said Fanny, suddenly, "Mr Millar can set us right now. I am glad I thought of it. Mr Millar, is Mrs Roxbury your aunt, or only your brother's?"
"I am afraid it is only Allan who can claim so close a relationship as that. I don't think I can claim any relationship at all. I should have to consider, before I could make it clear even to myself, how we are connected."
"It is much better not to consider the subject, then," said Arthur, "as they are rather desirable people to have for relations; call them cousins, and let it go."
"But at any rate she is not your aunt, and Amy Roxbury is not your cousin, as some one was insisting over Rose and me the other day. I told you so, Rosie."
"Did you?" said Rose, languidly. "I don't remember."
"It was Mrs Gridley, I think, and she said--no, it must have been some one else--she said you were not cousins, but that it was a very convenient relationship, and very pleasant in certain circumstances."
"Very true, too, eh, Charlie," said Arthur, laughing.
"I should scarcely venture to call Miss Roxbury cousin," said Charlie.
"She is very nice, indeed," pursued Fanny. "Rose fell in love with her at first sight, and the admiration was mutual, I think."
Rose shrugged her shoulders.
"That is, perhaps, a little strong, Fanny, dear. She is very charming, I have no doubt, but I am not so apt to fall into sudden admirations as I used to be."
"But you admired her very much. And you said she was very like Lily Elphinstone, when you first saw her. I am sure you thought her very lovely, and so did Graeme."
"Did I?" said Rose.
"She is very like her," said Mr Millar. "I did not notice it till her mother mentioned it. She is like her in other respects, too; but livelier and more energetic. She is stronger than Lily used to be, and perhaps a little more like the modern young lady."
"Fast, a little, perhaps," said Arthur.
"Oh! no; not like one in the unpleasant sense that the word has. She is self-reliant. She has her own ideas of men and things, and they are not always the same as her mamma's. But she is a dutiful daughter, and she is charming with her little brothers and sisters. Such a number there are of them, too."
Charlie spoke eagerly, looking at Graeme. "You seem deeply interested in her," said Arthur, laughing.
Harry rose impatiently.
"We should have Mrs Gridley here. I never think a free discussion of our neighbours and their affairs can be conducted on proper principles without her valuable assistance. Your
cousin would be charmed to know that you made her the subject of conversation among your acquaintance, I have no doubt, Charlie."
"But she is not his cousin," said Fanny. "And Harry, dear, you are unkind to speak of us as mere acquaintances of Mr Millar. Of course, he would not speak of her everywhere; and you must permit me to say you are a little unreasonable, not to say cross." And Rose smiled very sweetly on him as she spoke.
Harry did look cross, and Charlie looked astonished. Graeme did not understand it.
"Was that young Roxbury I saw you driving with the other day?" asked Arthur. "He is going into business, I hear."
"It was he," said Charlie. "As to his going into business, I cannot say. He is quite young yet. He is not of age. Are you going, Harry? It is not very late yet."
They did not go immediately, but they did not have much pleasure after that. He was very lively and amusing, and tried to propitiate Harry, Graeme thought, but she was not quite sure; there were a good many allusions to events and places and persons that she did not understand, and nothing could be plainer than that she did not succeed. Then they had some music. Rose sat at the piano till they went away, playing pieces long, loud, and intricate; and, after they went away, she sat down again, and played on still.
"What put Harry out of sorts to-night?" asked Arthur.
"Was he out of sorts?" asked Graeme, a little anxiously.
Rose laughed.
"I shall have to give Harry some good advice," said she; and that was the last word she said, till she said "good-night."
"There is something wrong," said Graeme to herself, "though I am sure I cannot tell what it is. In old times, Rosie would have burst forth with it all, as soon as we came up-stairs. But it is nothing that can trouble her, I am sure. I hope it is nothing that will trouble her. I will not fret about it beforehand. We do not know our troubles from our blessings at first sight. It ought not to be less easy to trust for my darling than for myself. But, oh! Rosie, I am afraid I have been at my old folly, dreaming idle dreams again." _