"Aunt Francesca," he said, without preliminary, "I've been more kinds of
a fool in a few months than most men can manage to be in a lifetime."
"Yes," Madame agreed, with a cool little smile.
"Where is Rose?" he demanded.
"Rose," replied Madame, lightly, "has gone away."
"I know that," he flashed back. "I realise it every day and every hour
of my life. I asked where she was."
"And I," answered Madame, imperturbably, "have told you. She is simply
'away.'"
"Is she well?"
"Yes."
"Is she happy?'
"Of course. Why not? Beauty, health, talent, sufficient income, love--
what more can a woman desire?"
"Aunt Francesca! Tell me, please. Where is Rose?"
"When I was married," answered Madame, idly fingering an ivory paper
knife, "I went to live in a little house in the woods."
"Yes? Where is Rose?"
"It was only a tiny place, but a brook sang in front of it, night and
day."
"Must have been pretty. Where did Rose go?"
"It was very quiet there. It would have been a good place to work, if
either of us had been musical, or anything of that sort."
"Charming," replied Allison, absently.
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