“I shall have to give Harry some good advice,” said she; and that was the last word she said, till she said “good-night.”
“There is something wrong,” said Graeme to herself, “though I am sure I cannot tell what it is. In old times, Rosie would have burst forth with it all, as soon as we came up-stairs. But it is nothing that can trouble her, I am sure. I hope it is nothing that will trouble her. I will not fret about it beforehand. We do not know our troubles from our blessings at first sight. It ought not to be less easy to trust for my darling than for myself. But, oh! Rosie, I am afraid I have been at my old folly, dreaming idle dreams again.”
Chapter Thirty Nine.
Graeme had rejoiced over her sister’s return, “heart-free and fancy-free,” rather more than was reasonable, seeing that the danger to her freedom of heart and fancy was as great at home as elsewhere, and, indeed, inevitable anywhere, and, under certain circumstances, desirable, as well. A very little thing had disturbed her sense of security before many weeks were over, and then, amid the mingling of anxiety and hope which followed, she could not but feel how vain and foolish her feeling of security had been. It was the look that had come into Charlie Millar’s face one day, as his eye fell suddenly on the face of Rose. Graeme’s heart gave a sudden throb of pain and doubt, as she saw it, for it told her that a change was coming over their quiet life, and her own experience made it seem to her a change to be dreaded.
There had been a great snow-shoe race going on that day, in which they were all supposed to be much interested, because Master Albert Grove was one of the runners, and had good hope of winning a silver medal which was to be the prize of the foremost in the race. Graeme and Rose had come with his little sisters to look, on, and Rose had grown as eager and delighted as the children, and stood there quite unconscious of the admiration in Charlie’s eyes, and of the shock of pain that thrilled at her sister’s heart. It was more than admiration that Graeme saw in his eyes, but the look passed, and he made no movement through the crowd toward them, and everything was just as it had been before, except that the thought had come into Graeme’s mind, and could not quite be forgotten again.
After that the time still went quietly on, and Charlie came and went, and was welcomed as before; but Graeme looking on him now with enlightened eyes, saw, or thought she saw, more and more clearly every day, the secret that he did not seem in haste to utter. And every day she saw it with less pain, and waited, at last, glad and wondering, for the time when the lover’s word should change her sister’s shy and somewhat stately courtesy into a frank acceptance of what could not but be precious, Graeme thought, though still unknown or unacknowledged. And then the mention of Amy Roxbury’s name, and the talk that followed, startled her into the knowledge that she had been dreaming.
“Rose,” said she, after they had been up-stairs for some time, and were about to separate for the night, “what was the matter with Harry this evening?”
“What, indeed?” said Rose, laughing. “He was quite out of sorts about something.”