He rose as he spoke, and drew a chair for her, and on the hearing of his kind, grave voice much peace and reassurance settled on her.
“I couldn’t help myself,” she answered. “I had to come. But you can’t be half as pleased to see me as I am to see you!”
He looked at her. “Are you then so much in need of a friend?”
“Yes; but I think I should make better friends with your son than you.”
The vestige of a smile crept into his eyes. “But why?”
“Well, I expect you will be too clever. You would soon learn how stupid I was; and then perhaps we should quarrel.”
Rosalie looked up shyly as she spoke those last words. The quarrelling, she felt pretty certain, would be all on his side, as it had been with Mr. Barringcourt, for she would never have presumed so far.
“You give Billy credit for being more forbearing than I?”
“Oh, no; I think he will be less observant. I’m very stupid, you know,” she continued, with her large, earnest eyes fixed on his; “and people get very soon tired of me. I thought it might be just as well to tell you now, in case you might form a wrong impression, and then be annoyed after, and blame me for it.”
“Well,” said he, smiling, “that will do for the present. Sleep to-night, and in the morning we will hold a longer conversation.”