"They have no portrait of her," went on Rose, not in her mercilessness, but in her giddy, gossiping lightness. "And the one you took of her, you defaced."
"Don't, Rose!"
The words came from him with a wail. His remorse wanted no feeding; it was already as great as he well knew how to bear. Rose was not quite without feeling, and the words and their tone checked her. She sat thinking how unkind she had been, and began flirting the strings of her bonnet about, as it lay near her on the table.
But it was not in her nature to remain silent long. Something, perhaps the black ribbon, took her thoughts to another subject: and in truth she did not like to say more of Adeline.
"Does it not seem like a fatality? All three of them to have died, one after the other!"
Mr. St. John came slowly out of his pain, and looked at her for an explanation. "Three of whom?"
"Oh, I was thinking of Alnwick. Mr. Carleton St. John first and then his two boys. I suppose you have inherited?"
"My brother has. Yes, it is a very sad thing. Quite a fatality, as you say."
"What fortune has Charlotte now? Much?"
"I really do not know. I fear not much."