For a time it was very pleasant, but, by and by, Rose began to wish Charlie would find something to do like the rest and not make dawdling after her the business of his life. The family was used to his self-indulgent ways, and there was an amiable delusion in the minds of the boys that he had a right to the best of everything, for to them he was still the Prince, the flower of the flock, and in time to be an honor to the name. No one exactly knew how, for, though full of talent, he seemed to have no especial gift or bias, and the elders began to shake their heads because, in spite of many grand promises and projects, the moment for decisive action never came.
Rose saw all this and longed to inspire her brilliant cousin with some manful purpose which should win for him respect as well as admiration. But she found it very hard, for though he listened with imperturbable good humor, and owned his shortcomings with delightful frankness, he always had some argument, reason, or excuse to offer and out-talked her in five minutes, leaving her silenced but unconvinced.
Of late she had observed that he seemed to feel as if her time and thoughts belonged exclusively to him and rather resented the approach of any other claimant. This annoyed her and suggested the idea that her affectionate interest and efforts were misunderstood by him, misrepresented and taken advantage of by Aunt Clara, who had been most urgent that she should “use her influence with the dear boy,” though the fond mother resented all other interference. This troubled Rose and made her feel as if caught in a snare, for, while she owned to herself that Charlie was the most attractive of her cousins, she was not ready to be taken possession of in this masterful way, especially since other and sometimes better men sought her favor more humbly.
These thoughts were floating vaguely in her mind as she read her letters and unconsciously influenced her in the chat that followed.
“Only invitations, and I can't stop to answer them now or I shall never get through this job,” she said, returning to her work.
“Let me help. You do up, and I'll direct. Have a secretary, do now, and see what a comfort it will be,” proposed Charlie, who could turn his hand to anything and had made himself quite at home in the sanctum.
“I'd rather finish this myself, but you may answer the notes if you will. Just regrets to all but two or three. Read the names as you go along and I'll tell you which.”
“To hear is to obey. Who says I'm a 'frivolous idler' now?” And Charlie sat down at the writing table with alacrity, for these hours in the little room were his best and happiest.
“Order is heaven's first law, and the view a lovely one, but I don't see any notepaper,” he added, opening the desk and surveying its contents with interest.
“Right-hand drawer violet monogram for the notes, plain paper for the business letter. I'll see to that, though,” answered Rose, trying to decide whether Annabel or Emma should have the laced handkerchief.