“Do not talk absurdly, Harry. Your father did not ‘sneak away.’ You know I begged him to go. The disturbance of the ball and the packing after it would have knocked him to pieces for the whole winter.”
At this moment Rose entered. She was radiant and innocent-looking, and full of apologies for her three minutes’ tardiness; and she answered Harry’s keen, interrogative look with one of such guileless listlessness that Harry was compelled to wonder whether it really had been his sister in the wood at that hour. All dinner time his thoughts wandered round this uncertainty and the certainty that Antony, at least, was a positive case. And then, if it was not Rose, whom could Antony have been making love to? For Harry had no doubts as to the occupation of the couple.
When they were alone, Harry suddenly turned to his sister and asked: “What were you doing in the wood so late this evening, Rose?”
“Me! In the wood?”
“Were you not in the wood with Antony Van Hoosen?”
She shrugged her shoulders scornfully and answered: “Mamma can tell you what I have been doing all afternoon.”
“Indeed, I can, Harry. Rose has had to look after many things you might have attended to for her; but then, Rose,” added Mrs. Filmer, turning her head languidly to her daughter, “there were the Van Hoosens to look after. Your brother is mad that way. If he cannot see the girl, he fancies he sees her brother. Thank heaven, we shall be rid of them to-morrow!”
“Oh, mamma! I think you too have Yanna and Antony on your brain.”
“Well, Rose, I have undergone them all summer; and I may now say frankly that I do not like them.”