Rose looked at her a moment in silence; then she said, turning away:
"I think she's charming."

"And do you propose to become charming in the same manner?"

"Her manner is perfect; it would be an excellent model. But I can't
discuss my mother with you."

"You'll have to discuss her with some other people!" Miss Tramore
proclaimed, going out of the room.

Rose wondered whether this were a general or a particular
vaticination. There was something her aunt might have meant by it,
but her aunt rarely meant the best thing she might have meant. Miss
Tramore had come up from St. Leonard's in response to a telegram from
her own parent, for an occasion like the present brought with it, for
a few hours, a certain relaxation of their dissent. "Do what you can
to stop her," the old lady had said; but her daughter found that the
most she could do was not much. They both had a baffled sense that
Rose had thought the question out a good deal further than they; and
this was particularly irritating to Mrs. Tramore, as consciously the
cleverer of the two. A question thought out as far as SHE could
think it had always appeared to her to have performed its human uses;
she had never encountered a ghost emerging from that extinction.
Their great contention was that Rose would cut herself off; and
certainly if she wasn't afraid of that she wasn't afraid of anything.
Julia Tramore could only tell her mother how little the girl was
afraid. She was already prepared to leave the house, taking with her
the possessions, or her share of them, that had accumulated there