“Mr Millar!” exclaimed Harry. “Do be reasonable, Graeme. Is it not of Mr Millar that we have been speaking all this time? He has everything to do with it. And as for not knowing them. I am sure Rose was at first delighted with Miss Roxbury. And Amy was as delighted with her, and wanted to be intimate, I know. But Rose is such a flighty, flippant little thing, that—”
“That will do, Harry. Such remarks may be reserved for Mr Millar’s hearing. I do not choose to listen to them. You are very unjust to Rose.”
“It is you who are unjust, Graeme, and unreasonable, and a little out of temper, which does not often happen with you. I am sure I don’t understand it.”
Graeme laughed.
“Well, perhaps I am a little out of temper, Harry. I know I am dreadfully tired. We won’t say anything more about it to-night, except that I don’t like to have Rose misunderstood.”
“I was, perhaps, a little hard on Rosie, once, but I don’t think I misunderstand her,” said Harry, wisely. “She is just like other girls, I suppose; only, Graeme, you have got me into the way of thinking that my sisters should not be just like other girls, but a great deal better in every way. And I shan’t be hard on her any more, now that it is all right with Charlie.”
But was it all right with Charlie? Graeme’s talk with Harry had not enlightened her much. Had pretty, gentle Amy Roxbury helped Charlie “to get over it;” as Harry’s manner of speaking seemed to imply? Or did Charlie still care for Rose? And had Rose ever cared for him “in that way?” Was Rose foolish, and flippant, and fond of admiration, as Harry declared; and was she growing dissatisfied with their quiet, uneventful life? Was it this that had brought over her the change which could not be talked about or noticed, which, at most times, could not be believed in, but which, now and then, made itself evident as very real and very sad? Or was it something else that was bringing a cloud and a shadow over the life of her young sister? Even in her thoughts, Graeme shrunk from admitting that Rose might be coming to the knowledge of her own heart too late for her happiness.
“I will not believe that she has all that to pass through. It cannot be so bad as that. I will have patience and trust. I cannot speak to her. It would do no good. I will wait and trust.”
Graeme sat long that night listening to the quiet breathing of her sleeping sister; but all the anxious thoughts that passed through her mind, could only end in this: “I will wait and trust.”