“Nonsense, Arthur! What do you know about jackets, Harry? But, Graeme, Rosie ought to have it. You know, she wants one so much.”
“She spoke about it, I know; but I don’t think she really cares for one. At any rate, she has made up her mind to do without one.”
“Of course, it would be foolish to care about what she could not get,” said Fanny, wisely. “But she would like it, all the same, I am sure.”
The velvet jacket had been discussed between these two with much interest; but Rose had given up all thought of it with great apparent reluctance, and nothing had been said about it for some days. Judging from what her own feelings would have been in similar circumstances, Fanny doubted the sincerity of Rose’s resignation.
“I believe it is that which has been vexing her lately, though she says nothing,” continued she.
“Vexing her,” repeated Graeme. “What do you mean, Fanny? What have you seen?”
“Oh! I have seen nothing that you have not seen as well. But I know I should be vexed if I wanted a velvet jacket, and could not get it; at least I should have been when I was a young girl like Rose,” added Fanny, with the gentle tolerance of a young matron, who has seen the folly of girlish wishes, but does not care to be hard on them. The others laughed.
“And even later than that—till baby came to bring you wisdom,” said her husband.
“And it would be nice if Rosie could have it before the Convocation,” continued Fanny, not heeding him. “It would just be the thing with her new hat and grey poplin.”
“Yes,” said Graeme, “but I don’t think Rosie would enjoy it unless she felt that she could quite well afford it. I don’t really think she cares about it much.”