“She acts just about the same,” Betty confessed, “but—Rose is very brave. I feel as if she were hiding it in her heart.”
“You needn’t feel so,” he declared. “Rose is daring; but she hasn’t that slow, enduring, patient sort of courage that would enable her to bluff in a matter of this sort. I don’t say that Rose is shallow; but she isn’t as yet deep. She’s young and she is extremely immature. Certainly, she doesn’t hide her feelings. If she says she doesn’t mind and acts accordingly, you can rest assured that she doesn’t. She is truly sadly afflicted, but really, Betty, I cannot see how such a deprivation could possibly be felt less than Rose has felt it since that day last spring when you rescued her from unalleviated wretchedness. Her mother has told me more than once that Rose was never so happy in all her former life as she has been continuously since that time. No doubt she might be still happier if, having known blindness, she could recover her sight. Nevertheless, I am quite convinced that Rose is and will remain sufficiently content and happy for all common and useful purposes.”
Meadowcroft dropped back in his chair. He didn’t understand the wave of exhaustion that swept over him until he saw Betty’s face. Then he realized how he had striven to impress her. He had seldom made a greater effort than that of compelling the girl to see that Rose wouldn’t take the tragedy as she herself took it. He could scarcely believe that he had been successful. But truly Betty seemed impressed and relieved. And his heart leaped.
She made a movement as if to rise.
“No, no, sit still,” he bade her. “I have such a lot to tell you, and Baker will take you home in the carriage afterwards. You’re tired, I know, but we shall get very cheerful, I feel sure, while we’re discussing things. And you will be ready to go straight to Rose the first thing in the morning.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
BETTY drew a deep sigh. She hadn’t dreamed she would ever feel eager again. Indeed, she had vaguely expected to go through the remainder of her years burdened with the sense of Rose’s terrible despair and with that awful conviction of sin that had come upon her with the reading of the newspaper disclosures. Now, she could scarcely wait to hear what he had to say. But as she looked up eagerly she saw that though Mr. Meadowcroft’s eyes shone, his face looked worn and very white.
“But, Mr. Meadowcroft, you’re tired,” she said gently. “I’ll go home and think of all the comforting things you have said and come back to-morrow.”
“No, indeed, Miss Pogany, you’ll do no such thing,” he declared. “We’ll both forget our weariness and sleep all the better. Try Tommy’s stunt and find a comfortable chair—curl up there in the corner of the sofa, and the minute you look comfortable enough to make me feel at ease, I’ll begin—not a second before.”
It would have been difficult to get fairly into the corner of that deep, high-backed cushioned sofa without feeling comfortable, and when Betty dropped her head back in weary content and smiled her readiness, Meadowcroft related what he had to say.