"Are you going to
wait until Isabel comes home?"
"Of course not."
"Then let's go up and read for a little while."
Rose waited until Madame was half way up the long flight before she
turned down the lights and followed her. It made a pretty picture--the
little white-haired lady in grey on the long stairway, with the yellow
cat upon her shoulder, looking back with the inscrutable calmness of the
Sphinx.
Rose felt that, for herself, sleep would be impossible until Isabel
returned. She hoped that Aunt Francesca would not want her to read
aloud, but, as it chanced, she did. However, the chosen book was of the
sort which banishes insomnia, and, in less than an hour, Madame was
sound asleep, with Mr. Boffin purring in his luxurious silk-lined basket
at the foot of her bed.
Alone in her own room, Rose waited, frankly jealous of her young cousin
and fiercely despising herself for it. She recalled the happy hours she
and Allison had spent with their music and berated herself bitterly for
her selfishness, but to no avail. As the hours dragged by, every moment
seemed an eternity.
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