Mrs. Mowbray bowed a grave acknowledgment. "I had better speak to Mrs.
Busby first," she said.
"As you please about that," said Mr. Southwode rising.
"But next June!" cried Mrs. Mowbray. "You are not going to take her away next June? I want her for a year longer at least. I want her for two years. That is one of the difficulties I have to contend with; people will not leave their children with me long enough to let me finish what I have begun. It would be much better for Rotha to stay with me another year. Don't you think so?"
"I am afraid a discussion on that point would not turn out in your favour, madame," he said. "Miss Carpenter is able to represent my part in it; I will leave it to her."
And he took leave. But when it came to Rotha's turn, he sealed all his pretensions by quietly kissing her; it was done deliberately, not in a hurry; and Rotha knew it was on purpose and done rather for her sake than his own. And when he was gone, she stood still by the table, flushed and proud, feeling that she was claimed and owned now before all the world. There ensued a little silence, during which Mrs. Mowbray was somewhat uneasily arranging some disarranged books and trifles on the great library table; and Rotha stood still.
"My dear," said the former at last, "am I to congratulate you?"
"There is no occasion, madame," said Rotha.
"What then did Mr. Southwode mean?" said Mrs. Mowbray, stopping her work and looking up much displeased.
"O yes,—I beg your pardon,—if you mean that," said Rotha, while the blood mounted into her cheeks again.
"Are you going to marry Mr. Southwode?"