“I do not complain of the ‘gulf,’ Harry; au contraire;—here comes the mail! and the commonplaces of our acquaintances may be quite as agreeable as the ‘what?’ of the early gods!” Mrs. Filmer was unlocking the bag as she spoke, and distributing the letters. Rose had several, and she went to her room to read and answer them, leaving Adriana and Harry to amuse themselves. They went first to the piano, and, when tired of singing, strolled into the woods to talk; and as the day grew warm, they came back with hands full of mountain laurel and wild-flowers. Then Harry began to teach Adriana to play chess; and she learned something more than the ways of kings and queens, knights and bishops. Unconsciously, also, she taught as well as learned; for a young lovable woman, be she coquette or ingénue, can teach a man all the romances; this is indeed her nature, her genius, the song flowing from her and returning never again.
After lunch Rose took Adriana away, with an air of mystery. “I have had a most important letter,” she said, with a sigh, “from poor Dick—Dick Duval! He is simply broken-hearted. And Dick has quite a temper, he does not like suffering so much. I feel that I really ought to see him.”
“When is he coming, Rose?”
“He can never come here. All my family are against Dick. Harry quarrelled openly with him at the club; and papa—who hardly ever interferes in anything—met him in the hall one night, and opened the front door for him.”
“What does Mrs. Filmer say?”
“Mamma says Dick is a physical gentleman and a 32 moral scamp; and she forbids me to speak or write to him. That is the whole situation, Yanna.”
“It is a very plain one, Rose. There is nothing to discuss in it. You ought not to answer his letter at all.”
“Dick says he will blow his brains out, if I do not see him.”
“How absurd!”
“You do not know what love is, Yanna.”