“I am sure neither you nor Fanny will venture to object; you have had Graeme all your life—at least for the last seven years. I should like to hear you, just. I am not joking, Graeme.”
Graeme laughed.
“There is no hurry about it, is there? I have heard of people changing their minds; and I won’t set my heart on it, in case I should be disappointed.”
Chapter Thirty Eight.
So Rose came home at last. Not just the Rose who had left them, now more than two years ago, even in the eyes of her sister. Her brothers thought her greatly changed and improved. She was more womanly, and dignified, and self-reliant, they said, and Graeme assented, wondering and pleased; though it had been the desire of her heart that her sister should come back to her just what she was when she went away.
She would probably have changed quite as much during those two years, had they been passed at home, though they might not have seen it so plainly. But Arthur declared that she had become Americanised to an astonishing degree, not making it quite clear whether he thought that an improvement, indeed not being very clear about it himself. Harry agreed with him, without the reservation; for Harry admired the American ladies, and took in good part Rose’s hints and congratulations with regard to a certain Miss Cora Snider, an heiress and a beauty of C—. “A trifle older than Harry,” explained she, laughing, aside to Graeme; “but that, of course, is a small matter, comparatively, other things ‘being agreeable.’”
“Of course,” said Harry, with a shrug that set Graeme’s fancy at rest about Miss Cora Snider.
In less time than Graeme at first supposed possible, they fell back into their old ways again. Rose’s dignity and self-reliance were for her brothers and her friends generally. With Graeme she was, in a day or two, just what she had been before she went away—a dear child and sister, to be checked and chided, now and then; to be caressed and cared for always; growing, day by day, dearer and fairer to her sister’s loving eyes. She was glad to be at home again. She was very fond of Norman and Hilda and their boys, and she had been very happy with them; but there was no one like Graeme, and there was no place like home. So she fell into her old place and ways, and was so exactly the Rosie of old times, that Graeme smiled in secret over the idea of her child having been in danger of being spoiled by admiration or by a love of it. It was quite impossible to believe that a love of pleasure would let her be so content with their quiet life, their household occupations, their unvaried round of social duties and pleasures. Admired she might have been, but it had not harmed her; she had come back to them quite unspoiled, heart-free and fancy-free, Graeme said to herself, with a sense of relief and thankfulness, that grew more assured as the time went on.