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Whittredge heard something of those puzzles which had so disturbed Rosalind's first weeks in Friendship, beginning with the story of the rose. "It's funny, father, but I hadn't thought till then that grown people had quarrels. I might have known it from the story of the Forest; I remembered that afterward, and how things all came right." "Poor little girl!
The Whittredge place had been invested by them with something of a halo of romance, founded chiefly on the seclusion In which it pleased Mrs. Whittredge to live.
You should have been warned; and yet in spite of it you have learned that realities are better than dreams." "Father," Rosalind asked abruptly, "why was it you did not come to Friendship for so many years? Did not grandmamma like my mother? I think I ought to know." Mr. Whittredge smiled at the womanly seriousness of the lifted face. "I think you ought, dear," he answered.
Whittredge; there is no occasion for defence, I must say good night." Nothing could have been more final than her manner as she moved away toward Bob, who waited at a discreet distance. There was no uncertainty in her voice now, nor in the poise of her head. Allan stood in the road, looking after her retreating figure. He had bungled.
It was careless; father would have said so. Well, she could let grandmamma know she was sorry, and feeling relieved at having found a possible solution of the problem, she closed the spelling book. Mrs. Whittredge looked up in evident surprise when Rosalind entered the room and announced, "I am sorry I left my book on the grass, grandmamma." "What do you mean, my dear?" she asked.
"As you seem to like going out to tea, I hope you will come and take supper with me sometime," she added, with a twinkle in her eye. When she reached home Miss Herbert stood at the gate, and in the door was Mrs. Whittredge. Rosalind's face was full of brightness as she ran up the path. "Grandmamma, I meant only to stay a minute, and then I forgot." "I have been worried about you, Rosalind," Mrs.
"I saw her once," she remarked gravely. "I forgot the Fairs and the Whittredges don't speak. Perhaps you know about it," said Belle. Rosalind shook her head. "I think it was about the will; wasn't it, Katherine? Mrs. Whittredge wanted to break it because she thought Mr. Gilpin was crazy, but Dr. Fair said he wasn't, and testified in court." Rosalind listened with interest. "Isn't Dr.
A chorus of protest followed her as she hurried up the bank. She had hardly reached the road when she heard her name spoken quietly, and turning, she faced Allan Whittredge in the moonlight. There was some hesitation in his manner as he said, "I can understand your wish to avoid me, and yet I am anxious to have a few moments' talk with you, now or at any time that may suit you."
"I am Rosalind Whittredge," she said. "I should not think you would ever be unhappy," she added. "Do you know, I saw you last Sunday when you were studying something. Kit and I peeped at you through the hedge." "I was learning a hymn for grandmamma. Why didn't you speak to me?" "I didn't know whether you'd like it." "Why, of course I should have liked it.
"It is my own, own book," she cried, clasping it to her heart. "Very well, you need not be tragic about it," Mrs. Whittredge said coldly, turning to her writing. Again Rosalind knew she had offended, and this time her resentment was aroused. "I don't like to be spoken to in that way," she told herself, as she walked from the room.
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