Time passed. I left school--went to college--traveled in Germany,
and stayed there some time to learn the language. At every
interval when I came home, and asked about the Welwyns, the
answer was, in substance, almost always the same. Mr. Welwyn was
giving his regular dinners, performing his regular duties as a
county magistrate, enjoying his regular recreations as an a
amateur farmer and an eager sportsman. His two daughters were
never separate. Ida was the same strange, quiet, retiring girl,
that she had always been; and was still (as the phrase went)
"spoiling" Rosamond in every way in which it was possible for an
elder sister to spoil a younger by too much kindness.
I myself went to the Grange occasionally, when I was in this
neighborhood, in holiday and vacation time; and was able to test
the correctness of the picture of life there which had been drawn
for me. I remember the two sisters, when Rosamond was four or
five years old; and when Ida seemed to me, even then, to be more
like the child's mother than her sister. She bore with her little
caprices as sisters do not bear with one another. She was so
patient at lesson-time, so anxious to conceal any weariness that
might overcome her in play hours, so proud when Rosamond's beauty
was noticed, so grateful for Rosamond's kisses when the child
thought of bestowing them, so quick to notice all that Rosamond
did, and to attend to all that Rosamond said, even when visitors
were in the room, that she seemed, to my boyish observation,
altogether different from other elder sisters in other family
circles into which I was then received.
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