“Yes, I have heard so much from Rosemary. But now as to his character?”
“He is above reproach. A not unworthy namesake of two heroes—Roland and Bayard. But why do you inquire into the history of this young person?”
“Because it is to him that Rosemary is engaged, or thinks herself engaged.”
“Oh,” laughed the lady, “that is an old story.”
“It cannot be an old story, since the child is but seventeen.”
“It is relatively an old story. When he was a schoolboy he was much favored by his friends the Grandieres, who lived at Oldfield, near Forest Rest, where his foster-mother, Miss Bayard, lived, and where Roland was reared. Rosemary was a baby. He used to pet her very much and tell her that she was his sweetheart, and his little wife, and all such childish nonsense as that. And I think they kept it up until Rosemary was sent to boarding school with our girls. Since that time—some five years ago now—I think there has been no more of it. I thought it was all forgotten long ago.”
“But it is not, you see. The child thinks that she is engaged to him.”
“I wonder if she is attached to him,” said the lady, thoughtfully.
“I do not quite know. Perhaps, as she believes herself to be engaged, she may also only believe that she is attached to him. It is a subject upon which one cannot very closely cross-examine a young girl.”
“No, you could not; but I must,” replied the lady.