‘Mind, Rose, if that churching—which Sunday was enough for any good girl in my time—is only to lead to walking with young gents which has no call to you, I won’t have it done.’
Mrs. Rollstone was not cultivated up to her husband’s mark, neither had she ever inspired so much confidence, and Rose made simple answer, ‘It is all right, mamma; I have spoken to papa about it.’
‘Oh, if your pa knows, I suppose he is satisfied; but men aren’t the same as a mother, and if that there young Mr. Morton comes dangling and gallanting after you, he is after no good.’
‘He is doing no such thing,’ said Rose in a
resolutely calm voice that might have shown that she was with difficulty controlling her temper; ‘and, besides, he is going away.’
Wherewith Mrs. Rollstone had to be satisfied.
Rose took a bold measure when she had taken her five five-pound notes from the savings bank. She saw her father preparing to waddle out for his daily turn on the beach, and she put the envelope containing them, addressed to H. Morton, Esq., into his hand, begging him to give it to Mr. Morton himself.
Which he did, when he met Herbert trying to soothe his impatience with a cigar.
‘Here, sir,’ he said, ‘my daughter wishes me to give you this. I don’t ask what it is, mind; but I tell you plainly, I don’t like secrets between young people.’
Herbert tried to laugh naturally, then said, ‘Your daughter is no end of a trump, Mr. Rollstone.’