“And how do you like Lady Thicknesse, Rose?”
“Very much indeed,” was the reply. “She is a middle-aged lady, perhaps turned fifty, but still goodlooking, and has a fine tall figure, and dresses very richly. I should have thought more of her if I hadn't been so much taken up with the young ladies. She received me very graciously, and said I should suit her perfectly, especially as her niece, Miss Barfleur, and Miss Calverley seemed pleased with me.”
“Nothing was said to her ladyship in reference to any previous matter?” inquired Chetwynd.
“Nothing whatever, sir,” replied Rose. “The young ladies spoke to me in private. I had likewise some conversation with Mr. Higgins, who cautioned me; but I told him I should never breathe a word on the subject. You needn't feel the slightest uneasiness, sir. To-morrow I enter upon my duties, and am sure I shall be very happy.”
“I sincerely hope so, Rose,” said Chetwynd. “I am very sorry for the misunderstanding that has occurred——”
“I've told Mr. Calverley all about the quarrel, my dear,” remarked Mrs. Hartley.
“I'm very angry indeed with Harry,” cried Rose, “and don't feel at all inclined to make it up with him.”
“You'll think differently by-and-by, I dare say,” observed Chetwynd. “My belief is that the writer of that mischievous letter to Harry is no other than the scoundrel who annoyed you in the steam-boat, and whom I chastised for his insolence.”
“The same idea occurred to me,” said Rose: “and I should have mentioned my suspicions to Harry, but he would listen to no explanations. Knowing his jealous temper, I never told him of that occurrence, as I fancied it would put him out. I also blame myself for not mentioning one or two circumstances that have occurred since your departure; but I really felt frightened.”
“Has Romney made an attempt to see you again?” asked Chetwynd.