"I have been to Woodcote," Rose broke in. "It was such a lovely afternoon I could not stay indoors."

Pauline looked dismayed. "To Woodcote?" she said sharply. "What a strange idea, Rose! I thought you were going into the Park. Was not Miss Merivale surprised to see you alone? I fancy she thinks we are like the Siamese Twins--always together."

"I did not see Aunt Lucy. They had all gone to Guilford. I only saw Wilmot."

"Wilmot? That's the cook, isn't it? I never can remember servants' names.

Well, did she condole with you about the concert, and think me a wretch for deserting you? I am afraid Miss Merivale will think so."

"I didn't say anything about the concert," returned Rose. "She talked about Miss Sampson chiefly. She seems to think her perfect."

"I daresay," returned Pauline, with a yawn. "Those sort of people always hang together. She's more of Wilmot's cla.s.s than ours, you know. I wonder what your aunt thinks of her."

"Oh, Aunt Lucy thinks her perfect too," returned Rose, no longer able to keep her jealousy out of her voice. "And so does Tom. I don't believe they miss me one little bit, Pauline."

"Did Wilmot tell you that?"

"No, but I am sure they don't. Little things she said made me think so."

"You silly child!" laughed Pauline. "Did you want your aunt to fret herself to death because you weren't there to run her errands? You ought to be glad she finds Miss Sampson so useful. She may be willing to let you stay on with me all the summer. Wouldn't that be delightful? Why, what a gloomy little face! Rose, I believe you are angry because I accepted Felicie's invitation. But I am not going to leave you alone again. I must remember you are not like Clare. You are vexed with me, now confess it."

"I see you could not help it," Rose answered wearily. "And I was glad to go home. I shall go again on Sat.u.r.day. You must come with me, Pauline."

"Don't tell your aunt that I wanted you to go to the concert alone, then,"

said Pauline, with a laugh. "She is such a dear old-fashioned thing, she might be shocked at me. And I believe you were shocked, just a little. How Clare would have laughed at you!"

There was an expression of alarm in Pauline's eyes as she watched Rose.

She began to fear that she had really offended her by her behaviour. She had been so sure of her influence that she had not thought it necessary to consider her, but she told herself now that she had been distinctly foolish. And she tried her best to make Rose forget that she had been deserted for a new friend. But she could not chase away the shadow from Rose's face. It was not her disappointment about the concert which had brought it there. It was the feeling that she was not being missed at home.

Next morning she was practising her scales in the sitting-room, after Pauline had gone to give some lessons, when Tom was ushered in by Mrs.

Richards. Rose ran to meet him with a glad cry.

"Oh, Tom, this is nice! Has Aunt Lucy come with you?"

"No; she sent me. She wants you and Miss Smythe to spend Sat.u.r.day to Monday with us. Why didn't you let us know you were coming yesterday, Rosie? Aunt Lucy was so disappointed when she found you had come down."

"I didn't think of it till the middle of the day. You had gone to Guilford, they told me. Wasn't that too far for Aunt Lucy?"

"Why should it be?" asked Tom in a surprised tone. "She has often driven as far as that. She seemed to enjoy it. She is certainly stronger, Rosie.

But you will see on Sat.u.r.day. You look rather pale. Come out with me. If you'll ask me to lunch, I can stay."

Rose hesitated. "I don't think you would like Mrs. Richards' cooking, Tom.

I would rather you wouldn't stay."

"You inhospitable sister! Well, I'll ask you to lunch with me. Run and put your hat on and let us go out. It is a glorious morning."

He watched her rather impatiently as she got the case and began to put her violin away. He was anxious to get her out into the open air. It distressed him to see how pale she was. And he had an uneasy feeling that he had been neglecting his little sister lately. For days he had hardly thought of her.

"You aren't practising too hard, I hope, Rosie?" he said kindly. "You mustn't overdo it, you know."

"Oh, I don't practise too much," Rose returned. She did not tell him that she found it impossible to practise except when Pauline was out. Pauline's neuralgia came on directly she began to play. "And how does Miss Sampson suit, Tom? I hope she looks after Aunt Lucy properly?"

Tom flushed up. "You will see for yourself on Sat.u.r.day, Rosie. Aunt Lucy is very fond of her."

"Yes, Wilmot told me that."

Tom gave his sister a hasty glance, was on the point of saying something, but checked himself. And there was a moment's silence before he spoke. "I wish you had not settled to stay here till June, Rosie. We want you at home."

It was in a choked voice Rose answered him. "I don't believe you do want me. Aunt Lucy has got Miss Sampson. She doesn't want me."

Tom again paused a moment before he spoke. Each time Rose mentioned Rhoda in that slighting tone it roused his anger against her. But he told himself that Rose did not know Rhoda yet, and he must wait till they had seen something of each other before he could expect Rose's sympathy. He spoke very calmly and reasonably after the pause.

"Did you wish Aunt Lucy to be miserable while you were away, Rose? It was your own wish to go. Surely you ought to be glad that she has found someone to fill your place."

He felt he had said the wrong thing before Rose turned on him, her eyes flashing. "How could Miss Sampson, a stranger, fill my place? Tom, you are horrid!"

"Not at all," he said stoutly, bent on defending the position he had taken up. "I don't want to hurt you, Rosie; but look at the thing reasonably.

Remember that you told me you were bored to death at home, that you would give anything to live in London all the year round. I didn't believe you.

But suppose you had really wanted it? You couldn't have expected to keep your place at home and yet have the freedom of a life like this. If a girl gives up her home duties, she must take the consequences."

"I have only been away a fortnight," said Rose, with a trembling lip, "and I shall feel nothing but a visitor when I go back on Sat.u.r.day. You--you only ask me because I went home yesterday and found you gone. I don't believe you want me a bit." And, to Tom's distress and amazement, Rose, poor little homesick Rose, burst into tears.

"I wish you would go back with me this minute and you'd find out whether we wanted you," he exclaimed, drawing her hands down from her face. "You silly child, what would Aunt Lucy say if she heard you talking such nonsense? Rosie, just listen to me a moment. I am going to tell you something I haven't even told Aunt Lucy yet, though I believe she guesses.

Don't cry any more. Just listen to me."

The quiver in Tom's voice made Rose look wonderingly at him. It was very unlike him to show any emotion. His cool, matter-of-fact way of looking at things had often irritated her. But she saw now that he was deeply moved.

And the reason of his agitation suddenly flashed upon her.

"Oh, Tom!" she faltered out.

"Rosie, you'll try to like her?" he said eagerly. "I'm not sure--I'm sure of nothing, except that I shall never be happy again unless--Rosie, you will be nice to her? You don't know her. There is n.o.body like her. You won't be able to help liking her, I'm sure of that."

Rose was still looking at him with wide-open, wondering eyes.

"But, Tom, is she--is she a lady?" she faltered.

He frowned. "She hasn't sixteen quarterings on her shield, if you mean that. But you won't ask the question again when you have seen her, Rose."

Rose did not remind him that she had seen her. She was trying to recall her as she sat at the side table busy over her typewriting. Her jealousy of Rhoda had somehow vanished in the light of Tom's wonderful confession.

She was eager to see the girl again who might one day be her sister.

"Do you really think Aunt Lucy knows, Tom?" she asked in a doubtful voice.

Tom's future wife had been often a subject for conversation between Miss Merivale and Rose. And of the two, Miss Merivale had been the more ambitious in her wishes. She had seemed to think that hardly anyone could be good enough for Tom.

"I'm sure she knows," returned Tom, with conviction. "But don't say anything to her, Rosie. I shouldn't have told you unless"--

"I'm glad you told me, Tom," said Rose, drawing a deep breath. "And I'm sure I shall like her. I'm sure she must be nice."

Tom beamed at her. "But you did see her for a moment, Rosie. She came here while you were staying with Miss Smythe last month."