Two months, I thought of. I can't spare
you longer than that, Rosie."
But, affectionate as these words were, and loving the kiss that
accompanied them, Rose went downstairs again with a sore heart. She was
like those who pluck Dead Sea apples, and find the fruit that looked so
fair when out of reach turning to ashes in their hands.
CHAPTER VII.
APPLES OF SODOM.
One warm, beautiful morning, early in April, Rose was toiling rather
wearily up the long flight of stone steps leading to the flat. She had her
violin, and she found it heavy. She was wishing she had Tom with her to
carry it.
Though Rose had not yet confessed it to herself, she was beginning to be a
little homesick. She missed the delicious freshness of Woodcote, its wide
rooms and sunny gardens, the thousand and one little comforts she had been
too accustomed to to notice; but more, far, far more, she missed the
protecting fondness that had surrounded her all her life. It was only a
fortnight since she joined Pauline, but it seemed much longer. And June
seemed a very long way off.
But she was looking forward to a great treat that afternoon. Paderewski
was playing at St. James's Hall, and she and Pauline were going early to
get seats. They would have to wait two hours or so, and might have to
stand after all, but to Rose that was part of the afternoon's enjoyment.
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