“Why, look, Rosa. Signor Arthur’s heart is breaking for his Mysie; while Miss Florence loves him, ah, I know how much!”
“Miss Florence! Does she? I thought her head was full of classes and school-girls.”
“Yes, she will not sit and cry; but I know how she listens when Freddie talks of him, and she will not begin herself to speak of him, but when I ask her questions then she will tell me. She thinks I am only a little girl and know nothing.”
“And you, yourself, dear?”
“I,” said Violante; “Rosa, I think he is ashamed of having loved me, and that he will never speak to me again.”
“Violante, it is wrong to let you stay there! I shall not consent to it.”
“Ah, no, Rosina, no! There I can see that he does not care for me; away, I should think—and hope—and fancy—and—and—oh, let me stay!”
“I am afraid that is not true,” said Rosa, and Violante blushed; for she knew in her heart that Rosa was right.
“You look well, Rosina mia,” she said.
“Yes, Violante, I shall surprise you very much. How should you like—you never thought that I should be engaged to anyone?”