Una's mind. She must be perfectly frank and sincere with the child.
"Una, dear," she said softly. "It isn't because of you poor little souls that I cannot be your father's wife. I never thought of such a thing. You are not bad—I never supposed you were. There—there was another reason altogether, Una."
"Don't you like father?" asked Una, lifting reproachful eyes. "Oh, Miss West, you don't know how nice he is. I'm sure he'd make you a good husband."
Even in the midst of her perplexity and distress Rosemary couldn't help a twisted, little smile.
"Oh, don't laugh, Miss West," Una cried passionately. "Father feels dreadful about it."
"I think you're mistaken, dear," said Rosemary.
"I'm not. I'm sure I'm not. Oh, Miss West, father was going to whip Carl yesterday—Carl had been naughty—and father couldn't do it because you see he had no practice in whipping. So when Carl came out and told us father felt so bad, I slipped into the study to see if I could help him—he likes me to comfort him, Miss West—and he didn't hear me come in and I heard what he was saying. I'll tell you, Miss West, if you'll let me whisper it in your ear."
Una whispered earnestly. Rosemary's face turned crimson. So John Meredith still cared. He hadn't changed his mind. And he must care intensely if he had said that—care more than she had ever supposed
