For a quarter of a minute she asked herself whether she
might not, after all, do so much evil that good might come. Mrs.
Donovan would take her out the next day, and be thankful enough to
annex such an attraction as a pretty girl. Various consequences
would ensue and the long delay would be shortened; her mother's
drawing-room would resound with the clatter of teacups.
"Mrs. Bray's having some big thing next week; come with me there and
I'll show you what I mane," Mrs. Donovan pleaded.
"I see what you mane," Rose answered, brushing away her temptation
and getting up. "I'm much obliged to you."
"You know you're wrong, my dear," said her interlocutress, with angry
little eyes.
"I'm not going to Mrs. Bray's."
"I'll get you a kyard; it'll only cost me a penny stamp."
"I've got one," said the girl, smiling.
"Do you mean a penny stamp?" Mrs. Donovan, especially at departure,
always observed all the forms of amity. "You can't do it alone, my
darling," she declared.
"Shall they call you a cab?" Rose asked.
"I'll pick one up. I choose my horse. You know you require your
start," her visitor went on.
"Excuse my mother," was Rose's only reply.
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