“Of course, mamma.”
“And yet you still accept his attentions! Oh, Rosalie!”
“Was I—am I wrong, mamma?” asked Rosalie, looking up from where she reclined upon the sofa.
The lady sat with her hands clasped upon her knees, in a simple attitude, with her eyes fixed in sorrowful doubt upon her child.
“Do you ever mean to review your decision, and accept him, Rosalie?”
“Never, mamma, I assure you!”
“Are you very certain, Rosalie?”
“Certain, dear mamma, beyond all possibility of doubt.”
“If I could believe it”——
“Dear mamma, you may rest assured of it! Why, if I thought it was to be my fate to marry Robert Bloomfield, well as I like him, I think I should die of grief!”