"If she had lived, we might never have come to Woodcote," Rose went on,
her glance resting lovingly on the old house, which had just come into
sight. "How strange it seems to think of that! How old was she, Aunt Lucy?
It is only lately I have thought of her at all."
"She was about two years old, dear," Miss Merivale answered in the same
low voice. Pauline, who was watching her in some wonder, could see that
she was profoundly agitated.
"Then she would have been about twenty now," Rose went on, not noticing
her aunt's disinclination to talk of her niece. "How old is Miss Sampson,
Aunt Lucy? I wonder if they ever saw each other."
"She is nearly twenty; I remember Clare telling me so," said Pauline,
answering for Miss Merivale. "But she looks much older. It is the kind of
life she has lived, I suppose."
Rose was intent on turning the curve of the drive in a masterly manner,
and did not answer this. And Pauline, after another glance at Miss
Merivale's face, was silent about Rhoda. It was plain to her that, for
some reason or another, the subject was intensely painful to Miss
Merivale.
Rhoda came shyly across the hall as they entered. She had on a new brown
dress that Miss Merivale had given her. It was brown cashmere, made very
simply, but it was a prettier dress than Pauline had ever seen her
wearing, and she stared undisguisedly at her as they shook hands.
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