She was a real Mallett, he told her; she was more his sister
than the others, and she liked to hear him say so because he had a
kind of grace and a caressing voice, yet the cool judgment which was
never easily upset assured her that a man with his mouth must be in
the wrong. He was, in fact, pursuing his old practice of extracting
money from his sisters, and he only returned, presumably, to his wife
and child, when James Batty, the family solicitor, had been called to
the ladies' aid.
But they both cried when he went away.
'He is so lovable,' Sophia sobbed.
'My dear, he's a rake,' Caroline replied, carefully dabbing her
cheeks. 'All the Malletts are rakes--yes, even the General. Oh, he
took to religion in the end, I know, but that's what they do.' She
chuckled. 'When there's nothing left! I'm afraid I shall take to it
myself some day. I've sown my wild oats, too. Oh, no, I'm not going to
tell Rose anything about them, Sophia. You needn't be afraid, but
she'll hear of them sooner or later from anybody who remembers
Caroline Mallett in her youth.'
Rose had received this confession gravely, but she had not needed the
reassurance of Sophia; 'It isn't so, dear Rose--a flirt, yes, but
never wicked, never! My dear, of course not!'
'Of course not,' Rose repeated. She had already realized that her
stepsisters must be humoured.
* * * * *
Riding slowly, Rose recalled that haymaking party and her gradual
friendship, as the years went by, with the unsociable young Sales, a
friendship which had been tacitly recognized by them both when,
meeting her soon after his mother's death, he had laid his arms and
head on the low stone wall by which they were standing, and wept
without restraint.
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