“Rose,” said Graeme, when they were up-stairs alone for the night, “I think it is the big brother that put Harry out of temper to-night.” Rose laughed.
“He seems quite afraid of him,” continued Graeme.
“And you are a little bit afraid of him, too, Graeme, or you never would have told me about Harry.”
“No. But I am just a little afraid for him.”
“You need not be. Harry thinks my desire for admiration insatiable, I know, but it is too bad of you, Graeme, to intimate as much. I have a great mind to tell you a secret, Graeme. But you must promise not to tell it again; at least, not yet.”
“Well,” said Graeme.
“If I should stay away longer than I mean to do at present, and Harry should get very unhappy about me, perhaps you might tell him. Harry thinks I cannot manage my own affairs,” added Rose, a vivid colour rising on her cheeks. “And he has a mind to help me. He has not helped me much, yet. Ah! well, there is no use going over all that.”
“What is the secret you are going to tell me?” asked Graeme.
“I don’t know whether I ought to tell. But it will be safe with you. Graeme, the big doctor is engaged.”
“Well,” said Graeme.