“We shall see. Rose will need some management. She is often very cross in the morning, and disposed to dislike every one.”
This morning, however, Rose was in her sweetest and most obliging mood. Something of the night’s struggle yet lingered in her subdued and conciliating manner; and Mrs. Filmer fortunately chose the subject most suitable for the condition—her daughter’s weary look, and the necessity for some rest. “Your father was talking seriously about going back to Woodsome,” she said. “I never saw him more determined about anything.”
“That would be so ridiculous! You never would do such a thing, mamma, not for two or even three months?”
“He spoke of going in a day or two. He finds the city’s noise and exigencies very trying. But you need not go, unless you desire.”
“And pray, who would chaperon me?”
“Perhaps Miss Alida Van Hoosen.”
“Oh, mamma! You know she has Yanna with her; and besides, their way of living is unutterably dull and stupid—lectures and concerts, and such 162 things. I could not endure it, and they could not endure me.”
“Your father had an offer for your hand this morning; but, of course, you will refuse it.”
“Of course I shall if the offer came from Antony Van Hoosen, as I suspect it does.”
“The man really thought that his enormous wealth would count with you; for he must have known it could not affect your father.”