But Rose was made of stern stuff, and her rosy
cheeks were as rosy, the brightness of her eyes was undimmed. We may
believe--and surely many harder demands are made upon our faith--that
there did arise a very special relationship between these two. The whole
of Angelina's heart was now devoted to Rose's service, Rose's was not
devoted to Angelina?... And always Angelina wondered when her friend
would return, watched for him in the dusk, awoke in the early mornings
and listened for him, searched the Square with its trees and its
fountain for his presence.
"Wosie, when did he say he'd come next?" But Rose could not tell. There
_were_ times when Rose's impenetrability was, to put it at its mildest,
aggravating.
Meanwhile, the situation with Aunt Emily grew serious. Angelina was
aware that Aunt Emily disliked Rose, and her mouth now shut very tightly
and her eyes glared defiance when she thought of this, but her
difference with her aunt went more deeply than this. She had known for a
long, long time that both her aunts would stop her "dreaming" if they
could. Did she tell them about her friend, about the kind of pictures of
which the fountain reminded her, about the vivid, lively memories that
the tree with the pink flowers--the almond tree--in the corner of the
gardens--you could just see it from the nursery window--called to her
mind; she knew that she would be punished--put in the corner, or even
sent to bed.
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