Rose gave her such a look, and for the first time this many a day spoke sternly to her, and asked her what on earth she had to do with uniforms or officers except one, the noblest in the world, her husband.
A month ago that word was almost indifferent to Josephine, or rather she uttered it with a sort of mild complacency. Now she started at it, and it struck chill upon her. She did not reply, however, and the carriage rolled on.
“He seemed to be dragging himself along.” This was the first word Josephine had spoken for some time. “Oh, did he?” replied Rose carelessly; “well, let him. Here we are, at home.”
“I am glad of it,” said Josephine, “very glad.”
On reaching Beaurepaire she wanted to go up-stairs at once and put on her gray gown. But the day was so delightful that Rose begged her to stroll in the Pleasaunce for half an hour and watch for their mother’s return. She consented in an absent way, and presently began to walk very fast, unconscious of her companion. Rose laid a hand upon her playfully to moderate her, and found her skin burning.
“Why, what is the matter?” said she, anxiously.
“Nothing, nothing,” was the sharp reply.
“There’s a fretful tone; and how excited you look, and feel too. Well, I thought you were unnaturally calm after such an event.”
“I only saw his back,” said Josephine. “Did not you see him?”
“See who? Oh, that tiresome officer. Why, how much more are we to hear about him? I don’t believe there WAS one.”