"I'm sure she knows," returned Tom, with conviction. "But don't say
anything to her, Rosie. I shouldn't have told you unless"--
"I'm glad you told me, Tom," said Rose, drawing a deep breath. "And I'm
sure I shall like her. I'm sure she must be nice."
Tom beamed at her. "But you did see her for a moment, Rosie. She came here
while you were staying with Miss Smythe last month."
"Yes; she sat at that table, and wrote the letters," Rose said, nodding
towards the little side table in the corner. "She had a brown dress on, I
remember. Tom, am I expected to say that I thought her very pretty? I
hardly looked at her."
"Well, you will see her on Saturday," Tom said.
Rose noticed that his voice sounded quite different when he spoke of
Rhoda. And there came a look into his face she had never seen there
before. It was impossible for her to cherish any jealous feelings in face
of the great fact that Tom was in love. It thrilled her to think of it.
That evening, when Tom was gone, and she and Pauline were sitting together
in their little sitting-room, she let her book lie unheeded on her lap,
while she looked forward dreamily into the future. She took it for granted
that Tom and Rhoda would marry. It seemed quite out of the question that
Tom could be refused. How strange it would be to have a sister! She had so
often wished for a sister.
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