Tom gave her a look of strong disgust. “I don’t think anything about it. But she isn’t fit to go by herself. Get her to take Maitland, if she won’t take one of us. She was looking quite ill this evening, didn’t you notice? I wouldn’t stay away a week, Rosie, if I were you. She misses you dreadfully if you are away only a day.” “But it is so dull here, doing nothing day after day but wait on Aunt Lucy, and pick the flowers, and look after the old people in the village,” said Rose, moved to a sudden burst of confidence. “It’s different for you, Tom. You have your shooting and fishing, and the estate to look after, and all the rest of it. But I’m at home all day”-- “That’s where a girl ought to be, my dear,” returned Tom good-humouredly. “I’m not going to pity you. If you are dull, it’s your own fault. Laura isn’t dull.” “I don’t suppose an oyster is dull,” was Rose’s disdainful retort. “But it’s no good to talk to you, Tom.” “I don’t say Laura is as clever as you, my dear,” returned Tom, with undiminished good humour. “But it is no good grumbling about your lot. Aunt Lucy couldn’t do without you, and you wouldn’t leave her if you could. So what’s the use of talking? And as to your being dull, I don’t believe it. You only imagine you are. That’s where your cleverness comes in, you see. We stupid people aren’t ashamed to be contented.” Rose could not help laughing at this, though she felt very cross. But she felt Tom was right in saying that her aunt could not do without her for very long. And she told herself sorrowfully that she must give up all hope of sharing Pauline’s flat when Clare went back to dull captivity at Desborough Park. She could not be spared. It seemed doubtful if she would be able to persuade her aunt and Tom to let her stay more than a day or two when she made her promised visit in the following week. She went up to her aunt’s room to bid her good-night, feeling herself a martyr, but determined to bear her hard lot with decent cheerfulness. Miss Merivale was sitting at the old bureau where she kept her most private papers. She had been reading over again the letter in which Lydia told her of the birth of her little dark-eyed girl. Many tears had fallen on the yellow pages before she put them away, and she turned such a white, worn face to Rose as she entered, Rose felt horribly ashamed at having ever thought of sharing Pauline’s flat. And the good-night embrace she gave Miss Merivale before going into the little white room that opened from her aunt’s had compunction in it as well as warm affection. “Aunt Lucy, do let Tom go with you to-morrow,” she begged. “But must you go to-morrow?” “Yes, I must, dear. And I want to go alone,” Miss Merivale answered. Then she pinched Rose’s cheek, trying to speak playfully. “You silly children, am I not to be trusted to go anywhere alone? I shall start early, and get back early. It is business I cannot put off, Rose. Perhaps to-morrow I shall be able to tell you all about it.”