She only once alluded to the matter of the
Moonstone, and that was in the way of forbidding any present mention of
it between us. "Wait till that man comes back," she said, meaning the
Sergeant. "We MUST speak of it then: we are not obliged to speak of it
now."
After leaving my mistress, I found Penelope waiting for me in my room.
"I wish, father, you would come and speak to Rosanna," she said. "I am
very uneasy about her."
I suspected what was the matter readily enough. But it is a maxim of
mine that men (being superior creatures) are bound to improve women--if
they can. When a woman wants me to do anything (my daughter, or not, it
doesn't matter), I always insist on knowing why. The oftener you make
them rummage their own minds for a reason, the more manageable you
will find them in all the relations of life. It isn't their fault (poor
wretches!) that they act first and think afterwards; it's the fault of
the fools who humour them.
Penelope's reason why, on this occasion, may be given in her own words.
"I am afraid, father," she said, "Mr. Franklin has hurt Rosanna cruelly,
without intending it."
"What took Rosanna into the shrubbery walk?" I asked.
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