bye"—he paused for quiet emphasis—"she has a sister, unmarried, who lives in the country and does nothing at all. It occurs to one—doesn't it?—that the idle sister might pretty easily find scope for her energies."
Rosamund stared at the ground. She was not so dull as to lose the significance of this story, and she imagined that Geoffrey reflected upon herself in relation to her own sister. She broke the long silence by saying awkwardly:
"I'm sure I would never allow a sister of mine to lead such a life."
"I don't think you would," replied the other. And, though he spoke genially, Rosamund felt it a very moderate declaration of his belief in her. Overcome by strong feeling, she exclaimed:
"I would do anything to be of use in the world. You don't think I mean it, but I do, Mr. Hunt. I———"
Her voice faltered; the all-important word stuck in her throat. And at that moment Geoffrey rose.
"Shall we walk about? Let me show you my mother's fernery she is very proud of it."
That was the end of intimate dialogue. Rosamund felt aggrieved, and tried to shape sarcasms, but the man's imperturbable good-humour soon made her forget everything save the pleasure of being in his company. It was a bitter-sweet evening, yet perhaps enjoyment predominated. Of course, Geoffrey would conduct her to the station; she never lost sight of this hope. There would be another opportunity for plain speech. But her desire was frustrated; at the time of departure, Caroline said that they might as well all go together. Rosamund could have wept for chagrin.
She returned to the detested house, the hateful little bedroom, and there let her tears have way. In dread lest the hysterical sobs should be overheard, she all but stifled herself.
Then,
