“Dear me, mamma! You don’t think of sending her to school. Why, she would set the whole place by the ears.”
“I think she would break her heart,” said Mary.
“Rosa speaks of her as such a child.”
“Oh, don’t you believe it, mother. A girl can’t have been on the Italian stage, and brought up for it, and remain a child.”
“Well, Miss Venning says: ‘Your proposal is somewhat startling, but I have great confidence in your judgment; and if you feel that your niece would be suitable in herself, I will accept her antecedents, as Florence is wild to have her, and, of course, her music and Italian will be very useful.’”
“Well, I wish them joy of her, and she of them, though nothing could be nicer than dear old Rosa.”
“Yes,” said Miss Grey; “but do you remember her passion for going on the stage? She used to walk up and down my room and spout poetry till her eyes would flash! I can quite imagine that the little one might make an actress. But I daresay reality has destroyed that vision.”
“I hope so,” said Mrs Grey, “for I have heard of a very nice engagement for her after Christmas. Mrs Bosanquet’s little girls, you know, Lucy. Nothing would be better.”
“Well,” said Mrs Compton, “I always had an idea about Rosa. Do you remember that civil engineer—years ago—Dick Hamilton? He danced very well—was a partner of yours, Trixie. I always thought Rosa liked him.”
“I daresay she did,” said Miss Grey, calmly. “What became of him? He was very ugly, but had a sort of way—I remember.”