"There is no reason why I should."
"No reason? O ingratitude! After he dived under the heels of a fiery horse, carried you nearly lifeless into the house, and took off his boots every time he entered it for six weeks thereafter. How much further could a man's devotion go?"
"I am beginning to find out," said Rose, with a slight return of an invalid's irritation, "how far a woman's devotion can go."
Helene arched her delicate brows. "Are you offended?" she asked, anxiously. "Ah, don't be! I'll take back every word. He didn't take off his boots, nor carry you in, nor pick you up, and, let me see—what other assertion did I make? Oh, yes. Of course he is a person you do love. But oh, Rose, Rose, what are you blushing about? This isn't the time of year for roses to blush."
"Upon my word, Helene, you are enough to make a stone wall blush."
"Ah, you are thinking of the stone walls of a certain farm cottage. I can imagine you sitting propped up in bed, with a volume of hymns marking the line, 'Stone walls do not a prison make,' with a big exclamation-point, and a 'So true!'"
Rose leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
"Are you very tired, dear?" inquired her friend, with real tenderness.
"Very tired," was the languid reply, that was not without a satirical intonation. "It seems as though my rest was a good deal broken."
"Broken bone! broken heart! broken rest! dear me! Well, I suppose they follow each other in natural sequence."