Then they took silver candlesticks and went upstairs, Rose climbing the additional flight that led to the night nursery in order that she might look at the sleeping Cecil before she went to her own large bedroom on the first floor.
She felt as though she had been for months at Squires, and her heart sank with a feeling of dismay that was almost physical, as she thought of remaining here for years.
As usual, she drifted into the hall after breakfast, knowing that she was not expected to return to the night nursery until the second housemaid had completed her duties there.
She stood beside one of the smaller inlaid tables, disconsolately turning over papers and periodicals.
“There is a new number of the Graphic, I believe,” said Ford’s voice behind her.
“Oh, thanks.”
On a sudden impulse she looked up at him, intensifying the liquid appeal of her big brown eyes almost unconsciously because he was a man, and young.
“I wish I had more to do, here.”
“Do you? I’m sure my mother would be glad of your help in many ways.”
“She just wouldn’t, then. How could I help her? I don’t know anything about her sort of things. I can’t even knit.”