At this he laughed. “My curiosity is not excited in the least,” he answered.
“But mine is,” she said, with a return to her decided manner; “and you really must come, if but to see the frog. It is a marvel.”
“Bring it here to me, then.”
“Certainly not, unless I bring her too. You are growing terribly lazy, Jack.”
“Well, come along,” he said impatiently. “Only please don’t drag me into any more of your charitable whims, frogs or no frogs.”
“Of course not. This is an exception. You might ask her her name and address. I quite forgot to do so.”
So together they went into the hall where Rosalie still sat. The frog, with a wisdom born of its dead vanity, had again settled itself conspicuously to attract attention on her shoulder.
Rosalie’s pale face and large bright eyes also possessed a peculiar beauty and fascination, although she was tired with the journey and sick from want of food.
Now, Sir John’s heart was as kind as that of his sister, and, moreover, he had a great admiration for woman when her beauty was of that delicate yet exquisite type that approaches the ideal, and contains little of the heaviness or substantiality of flesh. As they both came toward her, Rosalie rose, and her movements were so quiet, graceful, and well-bred, that one might have thought the frog’s spirit of wishing to do the correct thing for the sake of admiration had settled upon her. All his irritability, which was not of a very lasting or savage kind, vanished.
“You have a delightful little companion there,” said he pleasantly, looking at the frog.