“She hasn’t—you don’t think—she hasn’t gone away altogether?” her mother faltered.
“Good Heavens, no! She often does this, and with far less reason. I’ll knock and reassure you very soon now”; and thus I got her to retire. Rose came back some anxious hours later, at dawn. She was worn out.
It was as I had guessed. The poor child’s castle in the air having collapsed, she had been collecting energy for the rebuilding. But this time there was to be a less alluring site: the castle must be on the prosaic earth and the foundations dug by the dull spade, duty.
All this her tired face told me.
“O Dombeen!” she said as she seized my arm and clung to it.
“I know,” I said.
“Where is she?”
“In the Red Room.”
“I’ll go to her.”
“To-night? So late?” I said. “I was wondering if it would not be better in the morning.”