Isabel studied her from a little distance.
"Rose, tell me: how is it that you didn't marry young, as so many poor girls do?"
Rose considered a moment:
"I hardly know myself."
"You had lovers, always?"
"Yes, always."
"And you had fancies, too?"
"O yes, as all girls do, I suppose."
"Why didn't you marry one of these?"
"Well, for one reason, they didn't please me well enough—I mean long enough. They grew tiresome after awhile; and then I was ambitious, I wanted to get out into the world. I couldn't marry some one who would bind me down to the cook-stove all my life, and then I had my ideals of what a man should be—and, some way, the boys didn't interest me after awhile."