Madame
meditated upon the advisability of sending Isabel away, providing it
could be done gracefully, or even taking her on some brief journey, thus
leaving Rose in full possession of the house.
Yet, in her heart, she knew that it would be only a subterfuge; that it
was better to meet the issues of Life squarely than to attempt to hide
from them, since inevitably all must be met. She could not bear to see
Rose hurt, nor could she endure easily the spectacle of her beloved
foster son upon the verge of a lifelong mistake. Several times she
thought of talking to Colonel Kent, and, more rarely, of speaking to
Allison himself, but she had learned to apply to speech the old maxim
referring to letter-writing: "When in doubt, don't."
It happened that Allison came late one afternoon, when Isabel had gone
to town in search of new finery and Rose was in her own room. Madame had
just risen from her afternoon nap, and, after he had waited a few
moments, she came down.
"Where's Isabel?" he asked, as he greeted her.
"Shopping," smiled Madame.
"I know, but I thought she'd be at home by this time.
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