But Rosa had prepared for him. "One can be loud without being gay at
heart," said she, with a lofty, languid air. "I have not forgotten your
last words to HIM. We were to hide our broken hearts from the world. I
try to obey you, dear papa; but, if I had my way, I would never go
into the world at all. I have but one desire now--to end my days in a
convent."

"Please begin them first. A convent! Why, you'd turn it out of window.
You are no more fit to be a nun than--a pauper."

Not having foreseen this facer, Rosa had nothing ready; so she received
it with a sad, submissive, helpless sigh, as who would say, "Hit me,
papa: I have no friend now." So then he was sorry he had been so clever;
and, indeed, there is one provoking thing about "a woman's weakness"--it
is invincible.

The next minute, what should come but a long letter from Dr. Staines,
detailing his endeavors to purchase a practice in London, and his
ill-success. The letter spoke the language of love and hope; but the
facts were discouraging; and, indeed, a touching sadness pierced through
the veil of the brave words.

Rosa read it again and again, and cried over it before her father, to
encourage him in his heartless behavior.

About ten days after this, something occurred that altered her mood.

She became grave and thoughtful, but no longer lugubrious. She seemed
desirous to atone to her father for having disturbed his cheerfulness.