"Now, Rose, you knew better. And be so kind as to call the boys by their right names. I wish you'd be a steady child!"
Rose laughed. "Sir Simon Orville's here, Emma. I saw him at the study window just now with papa."
"Of course! That's the way you get your lessons done, Rose."
Miss Rose tossed her pen-wiper into the air and caught it again. She had the peculiar faculty of never listening to reproofs. At least, of listening to profit.
"Whom are those letters for, Emma."
"Not for you," answered Emma. "You may put the books away now, and go and wash your hands. It is tea-time."
Books, exercises, pens, ink, were all hurried into a drawer in the side-table, and away went Rose, meeting Mr. Henry at the door, for whom Miss Brabazon had sent. He no longer wore his grey travelling clothes, but was in a black surtout coat, looking, Miss Brabazon thought, very entirely a gentleman, with his quiet manner and refined face.
"Is this for you?" she asked, holding out one of the letters, which bore a foreign post-mark. "It is addressed to Doctor Henry."
He took it from her with a smile. "Yes, thank you; it is for me. Is there anything to pay?"
"No. Are you really Dr. Henry?"