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"You poor dear old boy!" she said. And then, "Don't you care, Roddy!"
He returned the caress with interest, before he seemed to realize the
different significance of it. Then he pushed her away by the shoulders
and held her where he could look into her face.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Don't care about what?"
It didn't seem like bravado--like an acted out pretense, and yet of
course it must be.
"Don't," she said. "Because I know. I've known all day. I read it in the
paper this morning."
From puzzled concern, the look in his face took on a deeper intensity.
"Tell me what it is," he said very quietly. "I don't know. I didn't read
the paper this morning. Is it Harriet?" Harriet was his other
sister--married, and not very happily, it was beginning to appear, to an
Italian count.
A revulsion--a sort of sick misgiving took the color out of Rose's
cheeks.
"It isn't any one," she said. "It's nothing like that. It's--it's that
case." Her lips stumbled over the title of it.


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