"Miss Mary behaved wonderfully well," continued Rose, with one quick look into Dick's face as they passed on. "She was perfectly calm, and tried to quiet Mrs. Brandon. She was very much hurt herself."
"Yes, so I have heard; she shows it, too; you would hardly recognize her now, she is so thin and altered."
"But, of course, she is more beautiful for that," said little, plump Rose, who had a great idea of delicate, fragile girls.
"Not more beautiful, exactly," answered Dick, who had not a great idea of delicate, fragile girls, "but it makes one feel for her more."
"I know you feel for her very much," said Rose.
"I have always honored her very much," answered Dick warmly. "It almost seems presumption for me to say I feel for her; but I do, indeed I do."
"I am sure of it," Rose responded with great warmth, and then there was silence for a long time.
Rose broke it with a little trembling in the first word or two at her own audacity, but gathering courage as she went on: "I knew you did when you were here last summer; then I heard of her father's failure, and then it seemed more natural; and—now—I am very glad for your sake. I hope you will be very happy. I do, indeed."
Now, Dick was no fool, and when the strangeness of this speech caused him to look harder than ever into the glowing but demure little face by the side of him, he felt for the moment a great inclination not to say a word; for provokingly innocent as she looked, he did not believe she was at all so ignorant of the real state of things. Rose felt the moment's hesitation, and, poor little thing, got frightened at her own conjuring, which fright so changed the expression of her face that Dick's hesitation vanished, and he answered:
"Of course I know what you mean, Rose, although it is so strange. I do not think of such a thing—it would be very strange if I did. You know better, don't you, Rose?"