“That’s not a blame you ought to take,” Beatrice interrupted, with earnest gentleness. “You are the most thoughtful man I know—for a woman, I mean.”
Dion flushed.
“Am I? I try to be. If I am it’s because—well, Beattie, you know what Rose is to me.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Dearer and dearer every day. But nobody——Mother thinks a lot of her.”
“Who doesn’t? There aren’t many Roses like ours.”
“None. Poor mother! Beattie, d’you think she feels very lonely? You know she’s got heaps of friends—heaps.”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t as if she knew very few people, or lived alone in the country.”
“No but I’m very sorry her little dog’s dead.”