Mehitabel was to her as much a part of the
establishment as were the tall chairs, the lion-headed fire-dogs, or
the silver which had belonged to her grandmother's grandmother.
Passing into the dining-room Berenice summoned the afflicted Rosa, who
came with face all be-blubbered with tears, and who sniffed audibly as
soon as she caught sight of the visitor.
"How do you do, Rosa? I wouldn't cry, if I were you," Berenice said.
"Mehitabel says that this wasn't his train."
"Oh, I know it, Miss," responded Rosa, with more tears; "but I can't
help thinking how dreadful it would be if it was; and me not to know
whether he was dead or alive. It don't seem to me I could ever marry
him, not to be able to tell whether he'd come home any day dead or
alive. I'll have to give him up, Miss; and he's real kind and free-
handed."
Her tears flowed so freely at the thought of giving up her lover that
they splashed on Berenice's hand as Rosa leaned over to reach for
something on the table.
"Well, Rosa," Miss Morison remarked, smiling at the absurdity of the
maid, and wiping her hand, "I'm sorry that you feel so bad; but I don't
like to be deluged with tears.
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