“I thank you, Harry, dear. But, you know, Fanny’s taste and mine are different. I don’t always fancy her pleasant people. And I should not think of taking you away on my account.”
“Not at all. I shall go, at any rate. But I want you to go, Rosie, for a reason I have. And I promise you won’t regret it. I wish Graeme would go, too.”
“It would be charming if we could all go together,” said Rose. “But it would be hardly worth while, we could make so short a stay, now.”
“I enjoyed it very much,” said Harry. “One gets to know people so much better in such a place, and I am sure you would like the Roxburys, Rosie, if you would only take pains to know them.”
“My dear Harry! think what you are saying! Would they take pains to know me? They are Fanny’s nice people, are they? Yes, I suppose so. However, I don’t believe Graeme will care to go.”
Graeme uttered an exclamation over her letter.
“It is from. Mr Snow,” said she, with a pale face.
“Bad news?” asked Harry.
It was bad news, indeed. It told, in Mr Snow’s brief way, that, within a few days, the illness, from which his wife had been suffering for some time, had taken a dangerous turn, rendering an operation necessary; and the letter was sent to prepare them for a possible fatal result.
“It gives her a chance, and that is all the doctors will say. She says it will be all right whichever way it turns. God bless you all. Emily will tell you more.”