“Rosalind, you use expressions which, to anyone but your father, would be positively offensive. Rest assured that I do not require my own child to correct me.”
“Oh, of course, dear father, I don’t mean that, but—”
“But it sounds extremely as if you did mean it.”
“I do hope you won’t ask any one here,” said she doggedly.
“Rosalind, you offend me. You are incapable, as I have told you before, of appreciating your duty either to me or yourself. Oblige me by going.”
“Papa, dear, I am only anxious—”
“Go!” said the Captain brusquely.
She obeyed. Mr Armstrong, as he met her in the hall and marked the bright colour in her cheeks and the light in her eyes, thought to himself how uncommonly well she was looking this morning. He might have thought otherwise had he seen her in her studio half an hour later, with the colour all faded, striving miserably to resume her painting at the point where she had left it off.
Her good father, meanwhile, naturally put out, continued his meditations.
“A most vexing child—no support to me at all. On the contrary, an embarrassment. I might have guessed she would cut up rough. Yet I do so long for a little sympathy. Wonder if I shall get any from my dear cousin Eva some fine day? Hum. I more and more incline to that venture. It would suit my book, to say nothing of my being really almost in love with the dear creature. But I’m so abominably shy. Let’s see, Ratman is due first week in October—a month hence. I shall have to keep him quiet some how. He won’t be satisfied with things as they are, I’m afraid. All very well to be heir-presumptive when there’s little prospect of presuming. Dear Roger is certainly not robust—not at all, poor boy. Still he seems tenacious of what would be very much more useful to me than to him. Yes, it would strengthen my hands vastly if my dear cousin Eva were to give me the right to regard the lad as a father. There would be something definite in that. It would solve the Armstrong question, for one thing, I flatter myself; and as for Rosalind—yes by the way—”