He not only loved Rosy, but realised how slight
a sweet thing she had always been, and he would know how far a slight
creature's gentleness might be overpowered and beaten down.
There was so much that her mother must be spared, there was indeed
so little that it would be wise to tell her, that Bettina sat gently
rubbing her forehead as she thought of it. The truth was that she must
tell her nothing, until all was over, accomplished, decided. Whatsoever
there was to be "over," whatsoever the action finally taken, must be
a matter lying as far as possible between her father and herself. Mrs.
Vanderpoel's trouble would be too keen, her anxiety too great to keep to
herself, even if she were not overwhelmed by them. She must be told of
the beauties and dimensions of Stornham, all relatable details of Rosy's
life must be generously dwelt on. Above all Rosy must be made to write
letters, and with an air of freedom however specious.
A knock on the door broke the thread of her reflection. It was a
low-sounding knock, and she answered the summons herself, because she
thought it might be Rosy's.
It was not Lady Anstruthers who stood outside, but Ughtred, who balanced
himself on his crutches, and lifted his small, too mature, face.
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