“Oh, Christopher, do let me go with her. Am I always to be a child?”
Thus appealed to before a stranger, Staines replied warmly, “No, dearest, no; you cannot please me better than by beginning life in earnest. If you two ladies together can face an auction-room, go by all means; only I must ask you not to buy china or ormulu, or anything that will break or spoil, but only solid, good furniture.”
“Won't you come with us?”
“No; or you might feel yourself in leading-strings. Remember the Bijou is a small house; choose your furniture to fit it, and then we shall save something by its being so small.”
This was Wednesday. There was a weekly sale in Oxford Street on Fridays; and the ladies made the appointment accordingly.
Next day, after breakfast, Christopher was silent and thoughtful awhile, and at last said to Rosa, “I'll show you I don't look on you as a child; I'll consult you in a delicate matter.”
Rosa's eyes sparkled.
“It is about my Uncle Philip. He has been very cruel; he has wounded me deeply; he has wounded me through my wife. I never thought he would refuse to come to our marriage.”
“And did he? You never showed me his letter.”
“You were not my wife then. I kept an affront from you; but now, you see, I keep nothing.”