The Doctor and his wife passed it in silence. Josie fortunately was talking to the cat and did not see it.
Rose could hardly touch her soup, which was delicious; her whole mind was filled with a desire to escape as soon as possible.
Which of the knives should she use first, and what was the extra little plate for, were the disturbing questions. She could use a fork, but she was afraid of betraying herself in the minutiæ of the service. As a matter of fact she got along very well, but of that she had no knowledge.
Some way she lived through the dainty dinner, scarcely tasting anything of it. At the close of it Mrs. Thatcher said:
"Wouldn't you like to lie down for a little while? aren't you tired?" Rose hardly knew what weariness was, but she assented because she wished to be alone.
"I'll call you at three, may I?" asked Josie, who was wildly in love with Rose already.
"O, isn't she big and splendid, but she's queer," she said when she came down.
"That'll wear off," said the Doctor. "She feels a little strange now. I know all about it. I went from a farm to the city."
Rose hardly dared lie down on the spotless bed. A latent good taste in her enabled her to see in every detail harmony of effect, and herself as the one discordant note in the house. O, how dirty and rough and awkward she was!
Looking out of the window she saw a couple of ladies come out of a large house opposite and walk down toward a carriage which waited at the gate. The ladies held their dresses with a dainty action of their gloved hands as they stood for a moment in consultation. (How graceful their hats were!) Then they entered the carriage.