oom and greeted
her neither shyly nor eagerly, nor with any affectation of ease, a girl
who didn't try to pretend it wasn't a critical moment for her but was
game enough to meet it without any evidences of panic--when Frederica
realized that this was the Rose whom Rodney had been telling her about,
she fell in love with her on the spot.

Amazingly, as she watched the girl and heard her talk, she found she was
considering, not Rose's availability as a wife for Rodney, but Rodney's
as a husband for her. It was this, perhaps, that led her to say, at the
end of her leave-taking, just as Rose, who had come out into the hall
with her, was opening the door:

"Roddy has been such a wonderful brother, always, to me, that I suspect
you'll find him, sometimes, being a brother to you. Don't let it hurt
you if that happens."

The most vivid of all the memories that Frederica took away with her
from that memorable visit was the smile with which Rose had answered
that remark. She had her chauffeur stop at the first drug store they
came to and called up Rodney on the telephone, just because she was too
impatient to wait any longer for a talk with him.

"I'm simply idiotic about her," she told him. "I know, now, what you
meant when you were trying to tell me about her smile. She looked at me
like that just as I was leaving, and my throat's tight with it yet.
She's such a darling! Don't be too much annoyed if I put my oar in once
in a while, just to see that you're treating her properly."

She walked into his office one morning a few days later, dismissed his
stenographer with a nod, and sat down in the just vacated chair. She was
sorry, she said, but it was the only way she had left, nowadays, of
getting hold of him. Then she introduced a trivial, transparent little
errand for an excuse, and, having got it out of the way, inquired after
Rose. What had the two of them been doing lately?

"Getting acquainted," he said. "It's going to be an endless process,
apparently. Heavens, what a lot there is to talk about!"

"Yes," Frederica persisted, "but what do you do by way of being--nice to
her?" And as he only looked puzzled and rather unhappy, she elucidated
further. "What's your concession, dear old stupid, to the fact that
you're her lover--in the way of presents and flowers and theaters and
things?"

"But Rose isn't like the rest of them," he objected. "She doesn't care
anything about that sort of thing."

Whereat Frederica laug