“Oh, but they’re very good,” she said. “I’m so glad. There should
always be an artist in our family.”
Should I tell her of Rose’s career, due to begin to-morrow? My natural
instinct, as always, was, at the moment, for fear of giving pain, to
conceal it; but I remembered my lesson, learned both from Rose and Rose,
and told her.
She was silent for some time. “But where is she?” she then asked.
“She has gone to bed,” I said, “most probably.”
“Without coming to say good night to you? Isn’t that strange?” She
looked at me searchingly.
“She knew you were here,” I said.
“She knew! How?”
“She saw you with me, from the garden.”
“Oh!” said Rose. “Yes.” She was silent again. “I’ll go to bed now, I
think,” she said, and I led her upstairs.
“To-morrow your old room will be ready for you,” I said. “It couldn’t be
to-night.”
“I like this one,” she said. “It’s where you get the view between the
two copper beeches. But Rose?” she went on. “I must just peep at her
before I sleep.”