‘Yes, indeed I did. I loved him from the first. He was like a father to me.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Richard, and he looked at her with an odd mixture of wonder and compassion.
‘He was just as kind and dotingly fond of me as my own dear granfer.’
‘To be sure,’ said Richard. ‘Yes; no wonder you loved him.’
Something in his tone caused Rosalie to pull down her handkerchief and to cast a keen glance at him.
‘Why do you look at me like that?’ she said passionately.
‘Was I looking at you in any particular way?’ returned he, averting his eyes quickly.
‘Yes, you were. You were looking at me as if you were sorry for me! How dare you be sorry for me?’
‘Were you not telling me,’ he said quietly, ‘how much you felt the loss of your good old husband?’
‘You know it was not that,’ she retorted. ‘You looked at me as if I were a child who had no sense—as if I did not know what I was saying.’