Miss Merivales Mistake | Page 4

mind was still running on Rhoda Sampson.
"She comes here three times a week, I think you said, my dear?" asked Miss Merivale in her gentle voice. "Does she come in the mornings? She has her meals here, perhaps?"
Pauline laughed. "We haven't invited her yet. I told Clare she must draw the line somewhere. There is a Lockhart's Coffee House round the corner, and she goes there. What makes you interested in her, Miss Merivale? If you want some typewriting done, I can easily get a proper person for you. Mrs. Metcalfe got Sampson because she is so cheap. She comes to Clare, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, for some ridiculous sum. If she knew her work, she would have wanted more. In fact, she told Clare that she knew very little. Rose, what are you looking at? Do you find the company of chimney-tops exhilarating? I wish our flat was in the front of the building. Then we could have a good view of the river."
"You have a delightful glimpse of it here," Rose said, without turning her head.
Pauline smiled and looked at Miss Merivale. "Rose is in the mood to find even London smuts fascinating," she said. "Could you spare her to us for a night or two next week, Miss Merivale? Joachim is playing at St. James's Hall, and I want Rose to hear him."
Miss Merivale started from a deep reverie. "Tom talked of bringing her up for Joachim's concert," she said. "But if Rose would like to stay a day or two--But have you room for a visitor?"
Rose had come from the window, her eyes sparkling at Pauline's suggestion that she should stay with her and Clare. She now broke merrily in. "Clare's two cousins stayed with them for a night last week, Aunt Lucy. You don't know how elastic a flat is. Does she, Pauline? Oh, do let me!"
If Rose had been pleading to be let out of prison she could not have spoken more earnestly. Another time Miss Merivale might have been hurt, but just then she was hardly able to attend to what Rose was saying.
"We must ask Tom about the concert," she said. "You can write to Miss Smythe to-morrow. Would any day next week be convenient, my dear?"
"Any day," said Pauline smilingly. "But the sooner the better. Be sure and bring your violin, Rose. I want Mrs. Metcalfe to hear you play. She is a brilliant performer herself. We must have a musical afternoon while you are here. Don't you think you could spare her for a week, Miss Merivale? We shall have so much to do."
"We will see, my dear," said Miss Merivale, getting up. "A week sounds a long time. But we will see. We must go now, Rosie. The carriage will be waiting. You and Miss Desborough must come and see us, my dear. I am sure even a day in the country would be good for you. Don't you pine for the country now the spring is coming?"
CHAPTER II.
WOODCOTE.
The drive home to Woodcote was a very silent one. Miss Merivale and Rose were both absorbed in their own thoughts, and neither of them even dimly divined the thoughts of the other.
It had never entered Miss Merivale's head that Rose, her pet and darling, her little nurse and helper, could be longing to live with Pauline in London; and how could Rose have guessed that her aunt's thoughts were fixed on Rhoda Sampson, the girl Pauline had spoken of in such contemptuous terms? She supposed her aunt was asleep, she sat so still in the corner of the carriage with her eyes closed, and she took good care not to disturb her. She was glad to be free to dwell on the delightful visions Pauline had called up for her.
Miss Merivale roused herself as the carriage turned in at the gates of the drive. The March twilight had gathered thickly, and lights were shining from the windows of the low, irregular house. They could see them twinkling through the trees.
"I wonder if Tom is back from Guilford yet, Rosie. He will scold us for being late. Oh, how sweet and fresh the air is here! Don't you pity those girls cooped up in that stuffy little flat? You must not promise to stay a week with them, Rosie. You would find two days quite long enough."
Rose was saved from attempting to answer this by the carriage stopping before the wide porch. A short, fair-haired young man, with a pleasant face and merry blue eyes, was waiting to open the door.
"Auntie, you have no business to be out as late as this and an east wind blowing," he said, in a playful scolding tone. "Rose, you should not have allowed it. But come in. There is a jolly fire in