She was fearfully pale, and I knew it was no common thing which had thus
moved her, and when not long afterwards the young ladies left us, I was
glad, for I felt that both she and Ada needed to be alone. The moment
they were gone Anna left the parlor, while I, frightened by the agonized
expression of her face, soon followed her; but the door of our room was
locked, and it was in vain I called on her to admit me, for she only
answered in a voice choked with tears, “Go away, Rosa; I would rather be
alone.”
So I left her and returned to the parlor, where I found Ada weeping
passionately, while my aunt, who had not been present during the
conversation which had so affected her, was trying in vain to learn the
cause of her grief.
“Nothing much,” was all Ada would say, except that “she wanted to go
home.”
In the midst of our excitement, Herbert came in. He had repented of his
ungracious refusal to ride with Ada, and now the carriage stood at the
door, but she refused, saying petulantly, when urged by my aunt to go,
that “if she couldn’t ride when she wanted to, she wouldn’t ride at
all.”
“Where’s Anna? she’ll go, I know,” said Herbert, glancing around the
room, and adding in a low tone, which reached my ear only, “and I’d far
rather she would.”
When I explained to him that she had a headache, and did not wish to be
disturbed, he exclaimed, “What ails all the girls to-day. Anything the
matter with you, Rose? If there isn’t, put on your bonnet and I’ll show
you the city, for I am resolved upon riding with somebody.”
As my aunt made no objection, I was soon ready and seated by the side of
Herbert, in the light vehicle, which he drove himself. I think he
exerted himself to be agreeable, for I never saw him appear so well
before, and in my heart I did not blame my poor sister for liking him,
as I was sure she did, while at the same time I wondered how he could
fancy Ada Montrose. As if divining my thoughts, he turned suddenly
towards me and said, “Rosa, how do you like Ada?”
Without stopping to reflect, I replied promptly, “_Not at all_.”
“Frankly spoken,” said he, and then for several minutes he was silent,
while I was trying to decide in my own mind whether or not he was
offended, and I was about to ask him, when he turned to me again,
saying, “We are engaged—did you know it?”
I replied that I had inferred as much from the conversation which I had
heard between her and Miss Marvin, saying further, for his manner
emboldened me, that “I was surprised, for I did not think her such an
one as he would fancy.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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