“No, sir, I am reading.” And, without mentioning the name, Rose put the book into his hand.
The instant his eye fell on the title he understood the look she wore and knew what “mischief” she had been in. He knit his brows, then smiled, because it was impossible to help it Rose looked so conscience-stricken in spite of her twenty years.
“How do you find it? Interesting?”
“Oh, very! I felt as if I was in another world and forgot all about this.”
“Not a very good world, I fancy, if you were afraid or ashamed to be found in it. Where did this come from?” asked Dr. Alec, surveying the book with great disfavor. Rose told him, and added slowly, “I particularly wanted to read it, and fancied I might, because you did when it was so much talked about the winter we were in Rome.”
“I did read it to see if it was fit for you.”
“And decided that it was not, I suppose, since you never gave it to me!”
“Yes.”
“Then I won't finish it. But, Uncle, I don't see why I should not,” added Rose wistfully, for she had reached the heart of the romance and found it wonderfully fascinating.
“You may not see, but don't you feel why not?” asked Dr. Alec gravely.