“It’s very mild out, Mrs. Harrow,” she added in her mature way.
“Yes, I know, but her papa’s going to take her out in the buggy when he comes home, and I don’t know’s she’d better be out now, Betty. What do you think, Rosy?” her mother inquired anxiously.
“I don’t care,” said Rose languidly.
“Then you may as well stay right here, for the windows are open,” Mrs. Harrow decided with evident relief. “I’ll change you into the rocking-chair so’s you’ll get more breeze.” And she led the girl very gently and carefully to a seat nearer the window and established her in it with an excessive amount of fussing. Then, deciding to take advantage of Betty’s presence to finish some work in the kitchen, she left the room with a farewell glance of warning to the girl.
Conversation limped along a little and then halted. It occurred to Betty to propose to sing. Rose was very fond of music, and assented with rather less than her wonted indifference; and taking her place at the pianoforte, Betty sang all the cheerful songs she could think of. Just as she was obliged to resort to hymns, Mrs. Harrow returned. Though the effect of the music appeared to be soothing, she watched her daughter anxiously and presently began making signs at Betty and pointing to the clock. With some hesitation, Betty finished a stanza, then went to her friend and took her hand.
“I guess I’d better be going now, Rose dear,” she said gently; and as Rose clung to her, bent and kissed her. On a sudden the blind girl burst into tears, and Mrs. Harrow hurried Betty off with scant ceremony.
“I suppose it was the music,” said Betty sorrowfully to herself as she went along. “Dear me, I begin to dread next Saturday already. I don’t know what I can do or say. O, and now, here’s this lame gentleman. I must be careful with him, too. I mustn’t speak of legs or arms or mention any sort of sports. Well! at least I can talk about sunsets and how things look, and school, if he should be interested. And—here I am already, and—I hope Mrs. Phillips isn’t at home.”
CHAPTER IV
THE man who opened the door was so fine and imposing that Betty would have taken him for Mr. Meadowcroft if she hadn’t known of the latter’s infirmity. She asked for him in her polite, old-womanly fashion and was told to go right up. But as she would have started, she saw Mrs. Phillips, dressed for the carriage, about to descend the grand stairway. Betty stifled a sigh, but she waited dutifully and greeted the lady with sweet formality.
“Who’s this! Not Bouncing Bet, surely!” cried Mrs. Phillips effusively. “Dear me, how you do grow! You’re as tall as I, and you’d make three of me, if not four. My goodness! how do you buy your belts—by the yard? And how old are you, pray?”