She was well used to keeping her own counsel. She looked and she acted just the same as usual; when Miss Amy appeared she found breakfast on the table, as it should be, and Rosaleen occupying a few spare moments in dusting.
“Good morning, Miss Amy!” she said, in her gentle, her almost meek little voice.
Miss Amy answered curtly, and looked into the kitchen to see if all was in order. She was a stout grey haired woman with a face as dark as a gypsy’s and a long, sharp—an almost wolfish, nose. She had a perpetual smile, a smile which she had schooled her lips to assume, in her terrible efforts to subdue her own fierce nature. She was a woman of natural ferocity and violence, but controlled and dominated by a passionate desire to be good. So well did she rule herself that she very rarely spoke a sharp word, and though she had a deep-rooted and unshakable dislike for Rosaleen, she treated her with generosity. She made her work; that, she considered, was good for her, and in every way fitting and proper. But she likewise considered that she and her brother were morally responsible for this girl, and she paid out of her own pocket for Art Lessons, for an occasional Shakespearian matinée and other items of cultural importance.
Anyone who has experienced it will admit how immeasurably painful is the combination of hostility and gratitude. Rosaleen was obliged by her own heart to dislike Miss Amy, and by her soul to recognise her benefactions. They were in all things opposed and hostile. Rosaleen was a fool possessed of common sense and Miss Amy was a practical woman without any.
Rosaleen brought in Miss Amy’s little dish of prunes.
“Anything I can do for you downtown to-day, Miss Amy?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, of course! It’s your lesson day. No, thank you, Rosaleen, there is nothing.”
Mr. Humbert now appeared to be fed. He ate, pretending to be absent minded so that no one should bother him about anything, and went away to his office. Then Miss Amy began leisurely to get herself ready to go to market, while Rosaleen washed the dishes and made the beds.
“You’d better hurry!” she said. “You’ll be late, Rosaleen!”
But Rosaleen was only waiting for her to be gone, so that she could put on her best blouse and her white gloves.