“I’ve heard so much about the paramount importance of duty that I am a little weary of it. It seems good to turn instead to the more genial side of human nature. I think Rose’s practical idea of a God-speed to the men by sending them off smiling is just splendid. They all kissed her in sheer gratitude when they left her house the other night.”
“I hope,” Edward Morgan said stiffly, “that you don’t allow them to take those liberties with you?”
Prudence laughed suddenly.
“I’d just love it, if they did,” she said. “But I am too near their own age for them to attempt it. I’ve, promised to write to quite a number of them though. That includes parcels. They will all be glad of gifts from home. They are so young and jolly and full of life—just like Bobby.”
Her eyes were a little wistful. She stood up, a graceful girlish figure in blue velvet, with the light falling softly on the gold of her hair. Edward Morgan’s gaze followed her movements, as she walked to the fireplace and stood leaning with her arm on the mantelshelf, looking down on the hearth. This free and frequent mixing with young life of the male sex disturbed him. He was jealous. It seemed to him that this new stream of sturdy youthful masculinity flowed between them, and set them still further apart. If his love for Prudence had diminished, his sense of proprietorship had not abated in the least. His pride of ownership was in arms against this incursion of new interests, new friendships, in which he had no share.
“Rose is giving another dance to-morrow night, isn’t she?” he said. “I think I’ll go with you and look on for a bit.”
She lifted her head and glanced towards him, surprised, and not particularly overwhelmed with gladness at the prospect of his company. Her reception of his proposal was not exactly flattering.
“You! You will be—bored. It’s just a romp.”
“Henry will be there, I suppose?”
“Oh, Henry! He likes that sort of thing. He romps too.”