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Whittredge for the responsibility thrust upon her, others pitied Rosalind, and still more, envied her. In view of all the discussion, it was not possible to regard an invitation to meet her as quite an everyday matter. "I do wish you had not soiled your embroidered muslin, Belle. You will have to wear your summer silk," said Mrs.
Miss Betty was there to watch the fate of her silver, and Allan Whittredge had brought Rosalind, who was eager to see for herself what an auction was like.
And then to find some shady anchorage, where lunch could be eaten and the hours fleeted away merrily until the cool of the afternoon. With only three in each boat, it was light work for the oarsman; and as rowing was something Maurice could do, and as the girls liked to take their turn, it often happened that Mr. Whittredge had nothing to do but enjoy himself.
When they passed the Gilpin place, on their way from the landing, a stop was made for a fresh supply of oak leaves from their favorite tree, and Rosalind pinned one on her uncle's coat. "I invite the Arden Foresters to meet with me to-morrow under the greenwood tree," said Mr. Whittredge, surveying his badge. "That's poetry, go on," said Jack. "I'll have to fall back into prose to finish.
Miss Whittredge looked at her mother, then as that lady was silent, she remarked, in her usual languid tone, "I think you may as well know, Rosalind, that we have nothing to do with the Fairs." Why did it make any difference to Rosalind? Why did everything seem wrong? Why did she feel so unhappy in spite of the blue sky and the sweet summer air?
On another occasion Rosalind had told how surprised she had been to find that her grandmother did not wear caps and do knitting work. "But I like you a great deal better as you are," she added. Mrs. Whittredge smiled. "I fear I am in every way far from being an ideal grandmother," she said. Rosalind thought of all this, her eyes on the dismantled garden.
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?
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.
How old do you think she is? and do you suppose she is going to live there? Oh, Maurice, shouldn't you be afraid of Mrs. Whittredge?" "I don't know anything about her," Maurice replied, forgetting for the moment that he bad been pretending to know a great deal.
Few guessed the intensity hidden beneath Celia's gentle manner. Only now and then a spark from her dark blue eyes revealed it. The general construction put upon her proud reserve was that she was unsociable. There is no loneliness like that of the unforgiving heart. Celia had never felt it so strongly as after her meeting with Rosalind Whittredge in the cemetery.
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