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Updated: June 7, 2025
As he talked to his mother, his eyes rested fondly on Rosalind, and every subject led back to her at last. Rosalind, looking from her father to her grandmother, noted how much alike were their dark eyes, but here the resemblance ended. Mrs. Whittredge's oldest son, although he might possess something of her strong will, had nothing of her haughty reserve.
A few brief sentences had been exchanged with his mother upon the subject that weighed most heavily on his mind. "Has anything ever been done, any step taken, to correct the unfounded report which got out at the time of my father's death, in regard to Dr. Fair's treatment of the case?" he asked abruptly one evening. The color rose in Mrs. Whittredge's face, and she looked up from her work.
And there was almost as much to hear, of Cousin Louis, whose health was now restored, but who was to spend some months in England, of their adventures, and the sights they had seen. "We shall want something to talk about when we get home," she was reminded. It would have been plain to the least observant that Patterson Whittredge's life was bound up with that of this little daughter.
Whittredge's having her here. You know she would have nothing to do with her son after he married, until lately, and she never saw her granddaughter before, I think family quarrels are awfully interesting; don't you?" As Charlotte spoke, the bell rang, and the girls turned toward the house.
"Losing by the way the sacred gift of happiness," Mrs. Whittredge's eyes went back to the book. Surely happiness had slipped from her grasp, leaving nothing but regret. It was sad to realize that her children found all their pleasure apart from her. Somewhere she had failed, but pride told her it was fate; that sorrow and disappointment were the common lot, that gratitude was not to be looked for.
Her thoughts would persist in dwelling upon Rosalind Whittredge. Again she recalled with shame the impulse that made her scorn the rose. She was glad she had picked it up and carried it home. Why should she have any feeling against Patterson Whittredge's daughter? Had not her father taken Patterson's side in the family trouble over his marriage?
They made no objection to her proposal to join them, so she turned back, feeling strongly tempted to tell her story to them; but she had agreed with Miss Celia that it was best not to talk about it until Mr. Whittredge's return, and Belle prided herself on her ability to keep a secret.
Whittredge's in the parlor. I come mighty nigh askin' her what she wanted in dis yere house." Celia looked up in astonishment. Mrs. Whittredge! What could it mean? "And she asked for me?" she repeated. "I done tol' her your mamma was sick, but she 'lowed 'twas you she wanted." Celia recovered herself. "Very well, Sally," she said, but it was with a beating heart she walked the length of the hall.
Mulligan, and the old Italian who sold peanuts, and whose head Margaret had painted; and of Jack Bedford and Fred Stone the dearest fellow in the world and last year's pictures especially Church's "Niagara," the sensation of the year, and Whittredge's "Mountain Brook," and every other subject their two busy brains could rake and scrape up except and this subject, strange to say, was the only one really engrossing their two minds the overturning of Mr.
Miss Betty had at first felt a prejudice against Patterson Whittredge's daughter, deciding in her own mind that she was probably a spoiled little thing; but the sight of Rosalind taking tea with Morgan, and more than this, the frank gaze of those disarming gray eyes, had touched her kindly heart.
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