Roma smiled. “All the same, Gertrude, like many other people, is rude when she is cross,” she remarked to Eugenia, for they were now by themselves. “Eugenia,” noticing the puzzled expression of her companion’s face, “why do you look so ‘funny?’ Are you shocked at me?”
“No,” said Eugenia, “but I am not sure that I quite understand you.”
“I am not worth much study, I assure you,” said Roma, contentedly. “You will understand all there is to understand very soon. Suppose we go out a little. By-the-bye, doesn’t that child trouble you? I saw her out there with you for such a time this morning.”
“Floss,” said Eugenia, “trouble me? Oh no. I like her. I should have been very dull without her.”
“So you have been dull? I was afraid of it. I saw the look on your face when I said how glad I was to be back at Winsley again.”
“Oh dear! I wish I could keep looks from my face,” exclaimed Eugenia, pathetically. “Please forget about it. I should be so sorry to look as if I were not happy here. Beauchamp is so anxious that Mrs Eyrecourt and I should get on well. He is very fond of his sister, unusually so, isn’t he?”
“So he should be,” replied Roma. “He owes her so much: so do I. She has been very good to us both.”
“How?” asked Eugenia. “Of course I know she cares for Beauchamp, and—and takes great interest in him and all that, but still I don’t quite know how you mean.”
Roma looked surprised. “Has Beauchamp never told you how Gertrude has all her life been almost like a mother to him?” she said. “And to me too,” she added. “I wonder he never told you.”
“There has been so little time,” said Eugenia, hesitatingly; “but I wish you would tell me. I want to understand things better.”