When Mr Millar called the first time after the night when Graeme had met him with Miss Roxbury, Rose was not at home. He had seen her going into the house next door, as he was coming up the street, he told Mrs Elliott, when she wondered what had become of her. She did not come in till late. She had been beguiled into playing and singing any number of duets and trios with the young Gilberts, she said, and she had got a new song that would just suit Fanny’s voice, and Fanny must come and try it. And then, she appealed to Arthur, whether it was a proper thing for his wife to give up all her music except nursery rhymes, and carried her in triumph to the piano, where they amused themselves till baby wanted mamma. She was just as friendly as usual with Mr Millar during the short time he stayed after that—rather more so, perhaps, for she reminded him of a book which he had promised to bring and had forgotten. He brought it the very next night, but Rose, unhappily, had toothache, and could not come down. She was not “making believe,” Graeme assured herself when she went up-stairs, for her face was flushed, and her hands were hot, and she paid a visit to the dentist next morning. In a day or two Harry came home, and Mr Millar came and went with him as usual, and was very quiet and grave, as had come to be his way of late, and to all appearance everything went on as before.
“Graeme,” said Fanny, confidentially, one night when all but Rose were sitting together, “I saw the prettiest velvet jacket to-day! It was trimmed in quite a new style, quite simply, too. I asked the price.”
“And were astonished at its cheapness,” said Harry.
“For baby, I suppose?” said Arthur.
“For baby! A velvet jacket! What are you thinking of, Arthur?” said Fanny, answering her husband first. “No, Harry, I was not astonished at the cheapness. But it was a beauty, and not very dear, considering.”
“And it is for baby’s mamma, then,” said Arthur, making believe to take out his pocket book. Fanny shook her head.
“I have any number of jackets,” said she.
“But, then, you have worn them any number of times,” said Harry.
“They are as good as new, but old-fashioned? Eh, Fanny?” said her husband.
“Three weeks behind the latest style,” said Harry.