“No, I am afraid not. Every one must build his own castle, as I heard her saying—or was it Emily? this very afternoon. But we needna trouble ourselves about what may come to pass, or about what mayna. It is all in good hands.”
“And, Rosie dear, all this might have happened at Norman’s last year, if only Charlie had been bolder, and Harry not so wise.”
The sisters were in their own room together. A good deal had been said before this time that need not be repeated. Graeme had made her sister understand how glad she was for her sake, and had spoken kind, sisterly words about Charlie, and how she would have chosen him for a brother out of all the world, and more of the same kind; and, of course, Rose was as happy, as happy could be. But when Graeme said this, she turned round with a very grave face.
“I don’t know, Graeme. Perhaps it might; but I am not sure. I did not know my own mind then, and, on the whole, it is better as it is.”
“Harry will be glad,” said Graeme. Indeed, she had said that before.
Rose laughed.
“Dear, wise Harry! He always said Charlie was pure gold.”
“And so he is,” said Graeme.
“I know it, Graeme; and he says he is not good enough for me.” And Rose laid down her cheek upon her sister’s lap, with a little sob. “Ah! if he only knew, I am afraid—”
“Dear, it is the humility of true love, as you said about Harry. You love one another, and you need not be afraid.”