She
was of the English Donovans.
"Dear child, won't you go out with me?" she asked.
Rose looked at her a moment and then rang the bell. She spoke of
something else, without answering the question, and when the servant
came she said: "Please tell Mrs. Tramore that Mrs. Donovan has come
to see her."
"Oh, that'll be delightful; only you mustn't tell your grandmother!"
the visitor exclaimed.
"Tell her what?"
"That I come to see your mamma."
"You don't," said Rose.
"Sure I hoped you'd introduce me!" cried Mrs. Donovan, compromising
herself in her embarrassment.
"It's not necessary; you knew her once."
"Indeed and I've known every one once," the visitor confessed.
Mrs. Tramore, when she came in, was charming and exactly right; she
greeted Mrs. Donovan as if she had met her the week before last,
giving her daughter such a new illustration of her tact that Rose
again had the idea that it was no wonder "people" had liked her. The
girl grudged Mrs. Donovan so fresh a morsel as a description of her
mother at home, rejoicing that she would be inconvenienced by having
to keep the story out of Hill Street. Her mother went away before
Mrs.
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