“Oh, my dear Dr. Frei, we were charmed—utterly charmed.”
Frei acknowledged Mrs. Witherby’s impressive compliment with a low bow. He was very grave.
“Dr. Frei plays so beautifully.” Rosamond thought she saw his sad mood coming upon him, and was eager to ward it off with sympathetic eulogies. Mrs. Lee, unawares, abetted her.
“Dear Dr. Frei, how much you have added to the natural charm of our dear old town by bringing your violin, and opening your little studio among us.”
Frei bent and kissed her hand.
“You have a kind heart,” he said, gratefully. “You criticise no one.”
“Oh, I hope not,” she replied. “The Judge has just been telling us about a poor dear man out in the great world—ah, well! Life must be very different in the vast cities, where people are strangers instead of neighbours. Think of that! Strangers instead of neighbours! How fortunate I am to live in Roseborough, where everybody is so interested in everybody else. Dear Mrs. Witherby, in particular, takes such an interest.” She patted that lady’s arm. Mrs. Witherby, having lost the last round, had left the table. “Ah, well, that is the spirit of Roseborough.”
“Some might call it a meddlesome spirit,” Miss Crewe suggested.
“Oh, my dear child,” Mrs. Lee reproved her, affectionately.
“I think we will not allow Mabel to interpret the spirit of Roseborough.” Mrs. Witherby was smilingly spiteful.