"Couldn't you have gone earlier?"
"How could I, when I had supper to get—and everything?"
He looked uneasy. "I don't like you to be running round these dark roads, my dear. You've been doing it a good deal lately. Where is it you go?"
"Why, father, what nonsense! Here I am cooped up all day—"
He sighed. "Very well, my dear. I know you haven't much pleasure. But things will be different soon, I hope. The new night fireman seems a good man, and I expect we'll do better now. He'll be here at ten. Were you going far?"
She answered promptly. "Only to Polly Wilson's. She wants me to"—Rosie turned over in her mind the various interests on which Polly Wilson might desire to consult her—"she wants me to see her new dress."
"Very well, my dear, but I hope after this evening you'll be able to do your errands in the daytime. You know how it was with Matt. If he hadn't gone roaming the streets at night—"
Rosie came close to the table. Her face was resolute. "Father, I'm not Matt. I know what I'm doing." She added, with increased determination, "I'm acting for the best."
He was mildly surprised. "Acting for the best in going to see Polly Wilson's new dress?"
She ignored this. "I'm twenty-three, father. I've got to follow my own judgment. If I've a chance I must use it."