“Yes, for two years. And Roger would have been all that richer if you’d declined. I’m sure his mother and Mr Armstrong are plenty to look after him. I’d have liked you so much better, dear father, if you’d stayed in the army.”
“I’m afraid, my poor girl, it is useless to argue with you. When you do get a wrong idea into your head, nothing will induce you to part with it, even if it involves an injustice to your poor father.”
“Father,” said she, “you know it is because I love you and—”
“Enough,” said he rather sternly. “I know you mean well.”
And he went.
At the door, however, he returned and said—
“By the way, Rosalind, I must mention one matter; not for discussion, but as my express wish. You named Mr Armstrong just now. I desire that you hold no communication with him. I have reason for knowing he is not a desirable person at all.”
“If so, you had better take us away from here,” said Rosalind, flushing. “You’ve no right to let us stay.”
“Silence, miss, and bear in mind what I tell you. Do you understand?”
Rosalind had taken up her brush and was painting furiously at her picture.