“He says Uncle John was in no danger, and that he did nothing that a guide or a servant might not have done.” “My dear,” said Aunt Sophy, “that is what they always say; the more they do the less they will give in to it.” “To call that old man like the Wandering Jew a hero!” said little Sophy. “Yes, I have seen him. I saw him arrive with Uncle John. He looked quite old and shabby; oh, not a bit like Lara, whose hair was jet-black, and who scowled when he looked at you.” “Why, how can you tell, you little-- Rosalind, I am afraid Miss Robinson must be romantic, for Sophy knows--oh, a great deal more than a little girl ought to know.” “It was in your room that I found ‘Lara,’” said Sophy, “and the ‘Corsair’ too; I have read them all. Oh, Miss Robinson never reads them; she reads little good books where everybody dies. I do not admire Mr. Rivers at all, and if Uncle John should intend to give him one of us because he has saved his life, I hope it will not be me.” “Sophy, I shall send you to bed if you talk so. Give him one of you! I suppose you think you are in a fairy tale. Mr. Rivers would laugh if you were offered to him. He would think it was a curious reward.” “He might like Rosalind better, perhaps, now, but Rosalind has gone off, Aunt Sophy. Ferriss says so. She is getting rather old. Don’t you know she is in her twenty-first year?” “Rosalind! why, I never saw her looking better in her life. Ferriss shall be sent away if she talks such impertinence. And she is just twenty! Going off! she is not the least going off: her complexion is just beautiful, and so fresh. I don’t know what you mean, you or Ferriss either!” Mrs. Lennox cried. She had always a little inclination to believe what was suggested to her; and, notwithstanding the complete assurance of her words, she followed Rosalind, who was moving about at the other end of the room, with eyes that were full of sudden alarm. “And I am in my thirteenth year,” said Sophy; “it sounds much better than to say only twelve. I shall improve, but Rosalind will not improve. If he were sensible, he would like me best.” “Don’t let your sister hear you talk such nonsense, Sophy: and remember that I forbid you to read the books in my room without asking me first. There are things that are very suitable for me, or even for Rosalind, but not for you. And what are you doing down-stairs at this hour, Sophy? I did not remember the hour, but it is past your bedtime. Miss Robinson should not let you have so much of your own way.” “It was because of Uncle John,” said Rosalind. “What has she been saying about Lara and the Corsair? I could not hear, Saunders made so much noise with the tea. Here is your tea, Aunt Sophy, though you know Dr. Beaton says you ought not to take it after dinner, and that it keeps you from sleeping.”