“Oh, don't begin to talk of that!” she would exclaim. “I know nothing about it, and never mean to know anything.”
Or there would be an imploring appeal.
“Why do you waste your time in talking politics when you have never told me a word about so-and-so's wedding?”
She occasionally read the “Court Circular,” and was rather fond of one or two of the “society” papers from which she used to glean choice little paragraphs of personal gossip.
Once one of these papers gave Erica an uncomfortable experience. The elders of the party being out for the evening, Rose and Erica had the drawing room to themselves, and Erica was really enjoying the rare novelty of talking with a girl of her own age. Rose, although the most arrant little flirt, was fond, too, of her girl friends, and she really liked Erica, and enjoyed the fun of initiating her into all the mysteries and delights of society.
“How did you get your name?” she asked, suddenly. “It is so pretty and so uncommon.”
“Oh,” said Erica, without thinking, “I was called after my father's friend, Eric Haeberlein.”
“Eric Haeberlein?” exclaimed Rose. “Why, I was reading something about him this afternoon. Here it is look!” And after searching the columns of her favorite “society” paper, she pointed to the following paragraph:
“It is now known as a positive fact that the notorious Eric Haeberlein was actually in London last week in connection with the disgraceful Kellner business. ON DIT that he escaped detection through the instrumentality of one of the fair sex, whose audacity outweighed her modesty.”
Erica could hardly have restrained her indignation had not two real dangers drawn off her attention from her own wounded feelings. Her father was there any hateful hint that he was mixed up with Herr Kellner? She glanced anxiously down the page. No, at least that falsehood had not been promulgated. She breathed more freely, but there was danger still, for Rose was watching her, and feminine curiosity is hard to baffle.