‘But that isn’t what I meant a bit. Anne is awfully superior,’ said Rose. ‘I always knew she was--but more than ever now. I am not asking you how you ventured to ask her, or anything of that sort--but how did you think that you could marry--when you had only enough to be sure of paying for your own dinner? And I don’t mean either just at first, for of course you thought she would be rich. But when you knew that papa was so angry, and that everything was so changed for her, how _could_ you think you could go on with it? It is that that puzzles me so.’ Rose was seated in a low chair, busy with a piece of crewel work, from which she only raised her eyes now and then to look him in the face with that little matter-of-fact air, leaving him no loophole of sentiment to escape by. And he had taken another seat on a higher elevation, and had been stooping over her with a smile on his face, so altogether unsuspicious of any attack that he had actually no possibility of escape. Her half-childish look paralysed him: it was all he could do not to gape at her with open mouth of bewilderment and confusion. But her speech was a long one, and gave him a little time to get up his courage. ‘You are very right,’ he said. ‘I did not think you had so much judgment. How could I think of it--I cannot tell. It is presumption; it is wretched injustice to her--to think of dragging her down into my poverty.’ ‘But you don’t seem a bit poor, Mr. Douglas; that is the funny thing--and you are not very busy or working very hard. I think it would all be very nice for you, and very comfortable. But I cannot see, for my part,’ said the girl, tranquilly, ‘what you would do with Anne.’ ‘Those are questions which we do not discuss----’ he was going to say ‘with little girls,’ being angry; but he paused in time--‘I mean which we can only discuss, Anne and I, between ourselves.’ ‘Oh, Anne! she would never mind!’ said Rose, with a certain contempt. ‘What is it that Anne would never mind?’ said Mrs. Mountford. Anne was out of the room, and had not even seen this curious inquisition into the meaning of her betrothed. ‘Nothing at all that is prudent, mamma. I was asking Mr. Douglas how he ever thought he would be able to get married, living such an easy life.’ ‘Rose, are you out of your senses?’ cried her mother, in alarm. ‘You will not mind her, Mr. Douglas, she is only a child--and I am afraid she has been spoiled of late. Anne has always spoiled her: and since her dear papa has been gone, who kept us all right----’ Here Mrs. Mountford put her handkerchief lightly to her eyes. It was her tribute to the occasion. On the whole she was finding her life very pleasant, and the pressure of the cambric to her eyelids was the little easy blackmail to sorrow which she habitually paid. ‘She asks very pertinent questions,’ said Cosmo, getting up from the stool of repentance upon which he had been placed, with something between a smile and a sigh.