‘There are more people than Anne in the world,’ said the mother, with some indignation. ‘Anne! we all hear so much of Anne that we get to think there is nobody like her. No, my pet, a man of Heathcote Mountford’s age--it is not anything like Anne he is thinking of; they don’t want tragedy queens at that age; they want youth.’
‘You mean, mamma, said Rose, still quite serious, ‘that he would like me best.’
‘My pet, we don’t talk of such things. It is quite time enough when they happen, if they ever happen.’
‘But I prefer to talk about them,’ said Rose. ‘It would be very nice to keep Mount; but then, if Anne had all the money, what would be the good of Mount? We, I mean, could never keep it up.’
‘This is going a very long way,’ said her mother, amused; ‘you must not talk of what most likely will never happen. Besides, there is no telling what changes may take place. Anne has not pleased papa, and no one can say what money she may have and what you may have. That is just what nobody can tell till the time comes.’
‘Oh, Rosie,’ said Mrs. Mountford, alarmed, ‘don’t be so plain-spoken, dear; don’t let us think of such a thing. What would become of us if anything happened to dear papa?’
‘But it must happen some time,’ said Rose, calmly, ‘and it will not happen any sooner because we speak of it. I hope he will live a long time, long after we are both married and everything settled. But if one of us was rich, it would not be worth her while to marry Heathcote, unless she was very fond of Mount; and I don’t think we are so very fond of Mount. And if one of us was poor, it would not be worth _his_ while, because he would not be able to keep it up.’
‘That is the very best conclusion to come to,’ said her mother; ‘since it would not be worth while either for the rich one or the poor one, you may put that out of your head and meet him at your ease, as you ought to meet an elderly cousin.’
‘Thirty-five is not exactly elderly--for a man,’ said Rose, thoughtfully. She did not put the question out of her mind so easily as her mother suggested. ‘But I suppose it is time to go and dress,’ she added, with a little sigh. ‘No Brighton, and winter coming on, and nobody here, not even Willie Ashley. I hope he will be amusing at least,’ she said, sighing again, as she went away.