Rose noticed that his voice sounded quite different when he spoke of Rhoda. And there came a look into his face she had never seen there before. It was impossible for her to cherish any jealous feelings in face of the great fact that Tom was in love. It thrilled her to think of it. That evening, when Tom was gone, and she and Pauline were sitting together in their little sitting-room, she let her book lie unheeded on her lap, while she looked forward dreamily into the future. She took it for granted that Tom and Rhoda would marry. It seemed quite out of the question that Tom could be refused. How strange it would be to have a sister! She had so often wished for a sister. She hoped Rhoda would soon learn to love her. She thought of her quite naturally as Rhoda now, and was tremulously eager to see her again. She was sure that the girl Tom loved must be worthy of his love. And the fact that he had made her his confidante had taken all bitterness out of her heart. She was proud that he had trusted her. “Rosie, whatever is your little head full of?” asked Pauline suddenly. She had been watching her for some moments, unable to interpret the shining, far-off look in her blue eyes. Rose pave a start and looked hastily round. “I was thinking of Tom,” she said, feeling her colour rise. “Tom ought to be flattered,” laughed Pauline. “I believe you had forgotten my existence. How you started when I spoke! Where were you? At Woodcote?” “I fancy so,” said Rose, getting up and stretching her hands above her head. “Shall we have supper now, Pauline? I wonder why that lamp smells so. Ours never do at home. I must ask Wilmot how to clean it. I am sure Mrs. Richards can’t do it properly.” “I don’t suppose she does, my dear. I believe Sampson tried to teach her. She’s a domestic genius, isn’t she? I am beginning to feel grateful to Sampson. If your aunt had not heard of her you wouldn’t have come to me.” “Pauline, I wish you would not speak of her like that,” said Rose, with a note of irritation in her voice. “Why do you?” “Why shouldn’t I? It isn’t as if she was a lady. One of her uncles is a butcher; she told Clare so.” “I don’t see why she should be ashamed of it,” returned Rose, answering Pauline’s tone rather than her words. “It’s what people are in themselves that matters, not what trade their relations belong to. But Miss Sampson has no relations of her very own. The M’Alisters adopted her. And Aunt Lucy thinks that her uncle might have been Cousin Lydia’s husband. It is that which made Aunt Lucy so interested in her at first. For, you know, if Cousin Lydia’s little girl had lived, she would have had Woodcote, and not Tom. And she and her father would have come to England when Uncle James died.”