Rose nodded understanding; then she stood up, tall and slim in her severe clothes, her high boots. The gilt clock on the mantelpiece said it was only five o’clock. There were five more hours before she could reasonably go to bed. “Where did you ride to-day, dear?” Sophia asked. “Over the bridge.” And to dissipate some of her boredom, she added, “I met Francis Sales. He thinks of going abroad.” There was an immediate confusion of little exclamations and a chatter. “Going abroad? Why?” “To learn farming.” “Oh, dear,” Sophia sighed, “and we thought—we hoped—” “She must do as she likes,” Caroline said, and Rose smiled. “The Malletts don’t care for marrying. Look at us, free as the air and with plenty of amusing memories. In this world nobody gets more than that, and we have been saved much trouble. Don’t marry, my dear Rose.” “You’re assuming a good deal,” Rose said. “But Rose is not like us,” Sophia protested. “We have each other, but we shall die before she does and leave her lonely. She ought to marry, Caroline; we ought to have more parties. We are not doing our duty.” “Parties! No!” Rose said. “We have enough of them. If you threaten me with more I shall go into a convent.” Caroline laughed, and Sophia sighed again. “That would be beautiful,” she said. “Sophia, how dare you?” Sophia persisted mildly: “So romantic—a young girl giving up all for God;” and Caroline gave the ribald laugh on which she prided herself— a shocking sound. “Rose Mallett,” Sophia went on, so lost in her vision that the jarring laughter was not heard, “such a pretty name—a nun! She would never be forgotten: people would tell their children. Sister Rose!” She developed her idea. “Saint Rose! It’s as pretty as Saint Cecilia—prettier!” “Sophia, you’re in your dotage,” Caroline cried. “A Mallett and a nun! Well, she could pray for the rest of us, I suppose.” “But I would rather you were married, dear,” Sophia said serenely. “And we have known the Sales all our lives. It would have been so suitable.” “So dull!” Rose murmured. “And we need praying for,” Caroline said. “You’d be dull either way, Rose. Have your fling, as I did. I’ve never regretted it. I was the talk of Radstowe, wasn’t I, Sophia? There was never a ball where I was not looked for, and when I entered the ballroom”—she gave a display of how she did it—“there was a rush of black coats and white shirts— a mob—I used just to wave them all away—like that. Oh, yes, Sophia, you were a belle, too—” “But never as you were, Caroline.” “You were admired for yourself, Sophia, but with me it was curiosity. They only wanted to hear what I should say next. I had a tongue like a lash! They were afraid of it.”