“That is to say, is it Pussy, that we are both resigned?”
She nods her head again, and after a short silence, quaintly bursts out with: “You know we must be married, and married from here, Eddy, or the poor girls will be so dreadfully disappointed!”
For the moment there is more of compassion, both for her and for himself, in her affianced husband’s face, than there is of love. He checks the look, and asks: “Shall I take you out for a walk, Rosa dear?”
Rosa dear does not seem at all clear on this point, until her face, which has been comically reflective, brightens. “Oh, yes, Eddy; let us go for a walk! And I tell you what we’ll do. You shall pretend that you are engaged to somebody else, and I’ll pretend that I am not engaged to anybody, and then we shan’t quarrel.”
“Do you think that will prevent our falling out, Rosa?”
“I know it will. Hush! Pretend to look out of window—Mrs. Tisher!”
Through a fortuitous concourse of accidents, the matronly Tisher heaves in sight, says, in rustling through the room like the legendary ghost of a Dowager in silken skirts: “I hope I see Mr. Drood well; though I needn’t ask, if I may judge from his complexion? I trust I disturb no one; but there wasa paper-knife—Oh, thank you, I am sure!” and disappears with her prize.
“One other thing you must do, Eddy, to oblige me,” says Rosebud. “The moment we get into the street, you must put me outside, and keep close to the house yourself—squeeze and graze yourself against it.”
“By all means, Rosa, if you wish it. Might I ask why?”
“Oh! because I don’t want the girls to see you.”
“It’s a fine day; but would you like me to carry an umbrella up?”
“Don’t be foolish, sir. You haven’t got polished leather boots on,” pouting, with one shoulder raised.
“Perhaps that might escape the notice of the girls, even if they did see me,” remarks Edwin, looking down at his boots with a sudden distaste for them.
“Nothing escapes their notice, sir. And then I know what would happen. Some of them would begin reflecting on me by saying (for theyare free) that they never will on any account engage themselves to lovers without polished leather boots. Hark! Miss Twinkleton. I’ll ask for leave.”
That discreet lady being indeed heard without, inquiring of nobody in a blandly conversational tone as she advances: “Eh? Indeed! Are you quite sure you saw my mother-of-pearl button-holder on the work-table in my room?” is at once solicited for walking leave, and graciously accords it. And soon the young couple go out of the Nuns’ House, taking all precautions against the discovery of the so vitally defective boots of Mr. Edwin Drood: precautions, let us hope, effective for the peace of Mrs. Edwin Drood that is to be.
“Which way shall we take, Rosa?”
Rosa replies: “I want to go to the Lumps-of-Delight shop.”
“To the—?”
“A Turkish sweetmeat, sir. My gracious me, don’t you understand anything? Call yourself an Engineer, and not know that?”
“Why, how should I know it, Rosa?”
“Because I am very fond of them. But oh! I forgot what we are to pretend. No, you needn’t know anything about them; never mind.”
So, he is gloomily borne off to the Lumps-of-Delight shop, where Rosa makes her purchase, and, after offering some to him (which he rather indignantly declines), begins to partake of it with great zest: previously taking off and rolling up a pair of little pink gloves, like rose-leaves, and occasionally putting her little pink fingers to her rosy lips, to cleanse them from the Dust of Delight that comes off the Lumps.
“Now, be a good-tempered Eddy, and pretend. And so you are engaged?”
“And so I am engaged.”
“Is she nice?”
“Charming.”
“Tall?”
“Immensely tall!” Rosa being short.
“Must be gawky, I should think,” is Rosa’s quiet commentary.
“I beg your pardon; not at all,” contradiction rising in him. “What is termed a fine woman; a splendid woman.”
“Big nose, no doubt,” is the quiet commentary again.
“Not a little one, certainly,” is the quick reply. (Rosa’s being a little one.)
“Long pale nose, with a red knob in the middle. Iknow the sort of nose,” says Rosa, with a satisfied nod, and tranquilly enjoying the Lumps.
“You don’tknow the sort of nose, Rosa,” with some warmth; “because it’s nothing of the kind.”
“Not a pale nose, Eddy?” “No.” Determined not to assent.
“A red nose? Oh! I don’t like red noses. However; to be sure she can always powder it.”
“She would scorn to powder it,” says Edwin, becoming heated.
“Would she? What a stupid thing she must be!