“I shall ask my father to forbid you.”
“Very well, George; you can please yourself, only I warn you, you had better not.”
“What do I care for your warnings?” He slammed the door behind him, and went down-stairs in the worst possible humour.
I wondered if George had quite made up his mind to give up the girl whom he loved, and who possessed a little money, and if this was the reason he was even crosser than his wont.
This thought helped me to be patient with him; and I went down-stairs to supper, resolved to show no ill-temper, but to make myself as agreeable as I possibly could.
I had never in my whole life wilfully disobeyed a direct command of my father’s, and I did not want to begin to do so now. I took it upon me, therefore, to make myself agreeable to him. I put his worsted-work slippers before the fire to warm. I pulled forward his favourite arm-chair, and cut the pages of a new magazine and laid it by his side. George was not in the room. My father received these attentions without any outward show of thanks; but when I came close to him for a moment, he bent forward and patted my head.
“It’s a good thing to have you at home again, Rose,” he said.
“Father,” I said, suddenly, “I should always like to do what you wish, of course; but I need not obey George, need I?”
“Obey George!” echoed my father. “I should think not, indeed. The fellow is growing much too hectoring. Obey George! What next, I wonder?”
“He wants me not to go to town to-morrow,” I said; “but if you give me leave, I may, may I not?”