Fisher had not. Clearly, since she could enjoy
herself as she was now enjoying herself, she had not enjoyed herself
before. Nobody had cared whether she did or not, except perhaps Lotty.
Yes; Lotty had cared, and had wanted her to be happy; but Lotty seemed
to produce a bad effect on Mrs. Fisher, while as for Rose herself she
had never been with her for five minutes without wanting, really
wanting, to provoke and oppose her.
How very horrid she had been. She had behaved unpardonably. Her
penitence showed itself in a shy and deferential solicitude towards
Mrs. Fisher which made the observant Briggs think her still more
angelic, and wish for a moment that he were an old lady himself in
order to be behaved to by Rose Arbuthnot just like that. There was
evidently no end, he thought, to the things she could do sweetly. He
would even not mind taking medicine, really nasty medicine, if it were
Rose Arbuthnot bending over him with the dose.
She felt his bright blue eyes, the brighter because he was so
sunburnt, fixed on her with a twinkle in them, and smiling asked him
what he was thinking about.
But he couldn't very well tell her that, he said; and added,
"Some day."
"Trouble, trouble," thought Mr. Wilkins at this, again mentally
rubbing his hands. "Well, I'm their man.
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