Miss Merivales Mistake | Page 4

of the river, grey under
the cold March sky. And Pauline was slowly stirring her tea, with her
eyes cast down. She was thinking whether it would be wise to drop a
hint about Rose's unhappiness at Woodcote. She had just made up her
mind to say a guarded word or two, when she found, to her sharp
annoyance, that Miss Merivale's 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