“May I inquire for what?”
“Why, for not understanding me; for not knowing that I should be sorry the moment you were gone. I took them off the very next day, to please you.”
“Took off whom?—Oh, I understand. You did? Then you ARE a good girl.”
“Didn't I tell you I was? A good, obedient girl, and anything but a flirt.”
“I don't say that.”
“But I do. Don't interrupt. It is to your good advice I owe my health; and to love anybody but you, when I owe you my love and my life, I must be a heartless, ungrateful, worthless—Oh, Christopher, forgive me! No, no; I mean, beg my pardon.”
“I'll do both,” said Christopher, taking her in his arms. “I beg your pardon, and I forgive you.”
Rosa leaned her head tenderly on his shoulder, and began to sigh. “Oh, dear, dear! I am a wicked, foolish girl, not fit to walk alone.”
On this admission, Christopher spoke out, and urged her to put an end to all these unhappy misunderstandings, and to his new torment, jealousy, by marrying him.
“And so I would this very minute, if papa would consent. But,” said she, slyly, “you never can be so foolish to wish it. What! a wise man like you marry a simpleton!”