‘_Even_.’ The word had a little sound of bitterness. In spite of all
his love, had the gentle puzzle-headed woman found her unearthly husband
often very hard to live with?
Rose meanwhile was sitting up in bed, with her hands round her knees,
dreaming. So she had got her heart’s desire! There did not seem to be
much joy in the getting, but that was the way of things, one was
told. She knew she should hate the Germans--great, bouncing, over-fed,
sentimental creatures!
Then her thoughts ran into the future. After six months--yes, by
April--she would be home, and Agnes and her mother could meet her in
London.
_London_. Ah, it was London she was thinking of all the time, not
Berlin! She could not stay in the present; or rather the Rose of the
present went straining to the Rose of the future, asking to be righted,
to be avenged.
‘I will learn--I will learn fast, many things besides music!’ she said
to herself feverishly. ‘By April I shall be _much_ cleverer. Oh, _then_
I won’t be a fool so easily. We shall be sure to meet, of course. But
he shall find out that it was only a _child_, only a silly, softhearted
baby he played with down here. I shan’t care for him in the least, of
course not, not after six months. I don’t _mean_ to. And I will make him
know it--oh, I will, though he is so wise, and so much older, and mounts
on such stilts when he pleases!’
So once more Rose flung her defiance at fate. But when Catherine came
along the passage an hour later she heard low sounds from Rose’s room,
which ceased abruptly as her step drew near. The elder sister paused;
her eyes filled with tears; her hand closed indignantly. Then she came
closer, all but went in, thought better of it, and moved away. If there
is any truth in brain waves, Langham should have slept restlessly that
night.
Ten days later an escort had been found, all preparations had been made,
and Rose was gone.
Mrs. Leyburn and Agnes lingered a while, and then they too departed
under an engagement to come back after Christmas for a long stay, that
Mrs. Leyburn might cheat the Northern spring a little.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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