“Oh, my fondly cherished darling—­you, loved, sheltered, caressed—­you, rich, admired, and flattered—­cannot understand or appreciate the trials and sufferings of a poor woman in my position and circumstances.  Think, darling, of my condition in that city, where I was homeless, friendless, penniless, in daily fear of being sent from the house for inability to pay my board!”

“I am sorry to hear all this,” said Cora.  And then she was prompted to add:  “But where was Mr. Fabian Rockharrt?  He was your earliest friend.  He first introduced you to my grandfather.  He never lost sight of you after you left us, but corresponded with you frequently, and gave us news of you from time to time.  Surely, Mrs. Stillwater, had he known your straits, he would have found some way of setting you up in some business.  He never would have allowed you to suffer privation and anxiety for a whole year.”

While Cora spoke she fixed her eyes on the face of her listener.  But Rose Stillwater was always perfect mistress of herself.  Without the slightest change in countenance or voice, she answered sweetly: 

“Why, dear love, of course I did write to Mr. Fabian first of all, and told him of the death of my dear husband, and asked him if he could help me to get another situation as primary teacher in a school or as a nursery governess.”

“And he did not respond?”

“Oh, yes; indeed he did.  He replied very promptly, writing that he had a situation in view for me which would be better suited to my needs than any I had ever filled, and that he should come to Baltimore to explain and consult with me.”

“Well?”

“The next day, dear, he came, and—­I hate to betray his confidence and tell you.”

“Then do not, I beg you.”

“But—­I hate more to keep a secret from you.  In short, he asked me to marry him.”

“What!” exclaimed Cora, in surprise and incredulity.

“Yes, my love; that was what he had to explain.  The position of his wife was the situation he had to offer me, and which he thought would suit me better than any other I had ever filled.”

“When was this proposal made?”

“About five months ago, and about seven months after the death of my dear husband.  He said that he would be willing to wait until the year of mourning should be over.”

“Oh, that was considerate of him.”

“But I was still heart-broken for the loss of my dear husband.  I could not think of another marriage at any time, however distant.  I told him so.  I told him how much I esteemed and respected him and even loved him as a dear friend, but that I could not be faithless to the memory of my adored husband.  I was very sorry; for he was very angry.  He called me cold, silly and even ungrateful, so to reject his hand.  I began to think that it was selfish and thankless in me to disappoint so good a friend, but I could not help it, loving the memory of my sainted husband as I did.  I was grieved to hurt Mr. Fabian, though.”