Miss Merivale's Mistake Part 9

"Yes; she sat at that table, and wrote the letters," Rose said, nodding towards the little side table in the corner. "She had a brown dress on, I remember. Tom, am I expected to say that I thought her very pretty? I hardly looked at her."

"Well, you will see her on Sat.u.r.day," Tom said.

Rose noticed that his voice sounded quite different when he spoke of Rhoda. And there came a look into his face she had never seen there before. It was impossible for her to cherish any jealous feelings in face of the great fact that Tom was in love. It thrilled her to think of it.

That evening, when Tom was gone, and she and Pauline were sitting together in their little sitting-room, she let her book lie unheeded on her lap, while she looked forward dreamily into the future. She took it for granted that Tom and Rhoda would marry. It seemed quite out of the question that Tom could be refused. How strange it would be to have a sister! She had so often wished for a sister. She hoped Rhoda would soon learn to love her.

She thought of her quite naturally as Rhoda now, and was tremulously eager to see her again. She was sure that the girl Tom loved must be worthy of his love. And the fact that he had made her his confidante had taken all bitterness out of her heart. She was proud that he had trusted her.

"Rosie, whatever is your little head full of?" asked Pauline suddenly. She had been watching her for some moments, unable to interpret the s.h.i.+ning, far-off look in her blue eyes.

Rose pave a start and looked hastily round. "I was thinking of Tom," she said, feeling her colour rise.

"Tom ought to be flattered," laughed Pauline. "I believe you had forgotten my existence. How you started when I spoke! Where were you? At Woodcote?"

"I fancy so," said Rose, getting up and stretching her hands above her head. "Shall we have supper now, Pauline? I wonder why that lamp smells so. Ours never do at home. I must ask Wilmot how to clean it. I am sure Mrs. Richards can't do it properly."

"I don't suppose she does, my dear. I believe Sampson tried to teach her.

She's a domestic genius, isn't she? I am beginning to feel grateful to Sampson. If your aunt had not heard of her you wouldn't have come to me."

"Pauline, I wish you would not speak of her like that," said Rose, with a note of irritation in her voice. "Why do you?"

"Why shouldn't I? It isn't as if she was a lady. One of her uncles is a butcher; she told Clare so."

"I don't see why she should be ashamed of it," returned Rose, answering Pauline's tone rather than her words. "It's what people are in themselves that matters, not what trade their relations belong to. But Miss Sampson has no relations of her very own. The M'Alisters adopted her. And Aunt Lucy thinks that her uncle might have been Cousin Lydia's husband. It is that which made Aunt Lucy so interested in her at first. For, you know, if Cousin Lydia's little girl had lived, she would have had Woodcote, and not Tom. And she and her father would have come to England when Uncle James died."

Pauline was watching Rose's face curiously. She did not feel any interest in Cousin Lydia and her husband, but she could not understand Rose's change of att.i.tude towards Rhoda Sampson. One explanation occurred to her--a delightful one. Had Rose made up her mind to spend the summer in London with her? Was this the reason she felt glad that her aunt had someone she liked to take her place?

"Well, as I said before, Rosie, I am grateful to Miss Rhoda Sampson," she said laughingly. "If she was not at Woodcote, you would not be here. And I shall get more and more grateful to her as the weeks go on. I may get to love her in time, if she enables us to spend the summer together. You are quite happy about your aunt now, aren't you, my Rose?"

Rose looked aghast at the prospect of spending the whole summer in the flat. She hardly knew how she was to endure it till June.

"I must go home in June, Pauline," she said hastily. "I couldn't stay longer than that."

"Well, we shall see," said Pauline gaily. "You won't talk so lightly about going back when you have had a few more weeks of freedom, Rose. And if your aunt is so well provided for, there will be no need for you to go back. You won't be wanted."

"Oh yes, I shall be," Rose answered, with a swelling heart. Tom had made her feel sure of that. "Pauline, please don't think about my staying here after June. I can't stay. I want to go home."

"You haven't forgiven me for that wretched concert!" Pauline exclaimed.

"I haven't thought of it again. It isn't that, Pauline. How could it be?

But I want to go home."

"You will be miserable, just as you were before. Remember how you talked to me. You were bored to death."

Rose flushed scarlet. "I wasn't. Or if I was, I don't mean to be so silly again."

Pauline looked at her with an angry glance. "You are a homesick baby, Rose, that is the long and short of it. I gave you credit for being grown-up. It was a mistake you coming here at all. Clare didn't get homesick."

"Clare had her work," answered Rose, knitting her pretty brows and looking miserably at Pauline's angry face. "I am doing nothing I couldn't do as well at home. I could come up once a week for lessons. Pauline, don't be angry. You didn't really think I should stay on after June, did you?"

"I gave you credit for meaning what you said," returned Pauline harshly.

"And what you said was true. You were not happy at home. If you go back, you will get bored and unhappy again."

Rose shook her head. She had had a sharp lesson. She knew what the freedom was worth that Pauline had offered her. She longed to take up again the little daily cares that had filled her life at home. And she longed to get away from Pauline. She was beginning to feel that she had never really known her till now.

Pauline waited a moment for her to speak, and then turned sharply away.

"Well, I shall not press you to stay with me. Madame Verney would be glad if I could live with her. I said it was impossible yesterday, as I was bound to you. Now I shall feel quite free to make my own arrangements. But you have disappointed me, Rose. I must tell you so quite frankly."

And Rose felt quite crushed for the moment by the judicial air with which Pauline p.r.o.nounced this judgment on her.

CHAPTER IX. PAULINE HAS HER SUSPICIONS.

Pauline and Rose went down to Woodcote on Friday evening.

Pauline had apparently recovered her spirits, and was in her brightest mood. She had been very sweet and caressing to Rose ever since their talk on the evening of Tom's visit to the flat. Rose inwardly chafed at this show of affection; she had ceased to believe in Pauline's sincerity.

Miss Merivale was waiting at the station for them with the pony carriage.

The groom had driven her down, but Rose begged to be allowed to drive back. It was the first time she had driven the new pony, which was a pretty, gentle, timid creature, obedient to the lightest touch on the reins.

"We must take Miss Smythe to Bingley woods to-morrow, Rose dear," Miss Merivale said, as they drove slowly up the long hill from the station.

"The primroses are very plentiful this year. Tom says the ground is carpeted with them."

Rose did not answer. The pony had started aside at the sight of a railway train that had just come out of the tunnel, and she was engaged in soothing it.

"Rose, you had better let me drive," Pauline suggested. "I drove a great deal when I was staying with the Warehams. You are not firm enough."

"It is only trains and traction engines Bob is frightened of," Miss Merivale said. "And coaxing is best, I am sure. There, we shall have no more trouble with him now. He is a dear little fellow."

Pauline said nothing, but she had some difficulty in keeping herself from shrugging her shoulders. She thought both Miss Merivale and Rose deplorably weak and silly. A smart stroke with the whip was what the pony wanted. But she had come down determined to be on her best behaviour, and she made some smiling remark on the beauty of the country.

"Rose has been pining for fresh air like a lark in a cage," she said. "Are you content now, Rosie?"

"Tom said she looked pale," Miss Merivale said, giving Rose an anxious, loving glance. "I wish you would come down again next week, dear. I can't let a fortnight pa.s.s again without seeing you; it is much too long."

"Time goes faster in London," said Pauline, without allowing Rose to answer. "It seems only yesterday that Rose came to me. How quiet it is here! Don't you miss the roar of London, Rosie? I do. Not the clatter of cabs and carts, but that deep, low roar we hear when we open the window.

It is like the voice of the great city. There is no music like it."

"I would rather hear the birds," Miss Merivale said gently; but she gave Rosie another anxious look. She was wondering if the time had gone as quickly with her as with Pauline.

Rose did not speak. She was waiting till they got home to pour her heart out to her aunt. She could not speak before Pauline.

"I am afraid I haven't many rustic tastes," Pauline said in a cool, superior voice. "But it is certainly lovely here. What a delightful change it must be for that little Miss Sampson! I hear you find her very useful, Miss Merivale. Clare will be pleased to hear it."

For the first time in her life Pauline saw Miss Merivale look angry. Her mild blue eyes actually flashed as she answered in a voice that trembled a little, "I don't think you can have heard that Rhoda is related to us, Miss Smythe. She is staying with me as my visitor. Rose, my dear, I want you to be very good to her."