“To be you? O dear yes!” cries Rosa, laughing with great enjoyment. “That was the first thing done.”
“I hope she did it pretty well,” says Edwin rather doubtfully.
“O, it was excellent!—I wouldn’t dance with you, you know.”
Edwin scarcely seems to see the force of this; begs to know if he may take the liberty to ask why?
“Because I was so tired of you,” returns Rosa. But she quickly adds, and pleadingly too, seeing displeasure in his face: “Dear Eddy, you were just as tired of me, you know.”
“Did I say so, Rosa?”
“Say so! Do you ever say so? No, you only showed it. O, she did it so well!” cries Rosa, in a sudden ecstasy with her counterfeit betrothed.
“It strikes me that she must be a devilish impudent girl,” says Edwin Drood. “And so, Pussy, you have passed your last birthday in this old house.”
“Ah, yes!” Rosa clasps her hands, looks down with a sigh, and shakes her head.
“You seem to be sorry, Rosa.”
“I am sorry for the poor old place. Somehow, I feel as if it would miss me, when I am gone so far away, so young.”
“Perhaps we had better stop short, Rosa?”
She looks up at him with a swift bright look; next moment shakes her head, sighs, and looks down again.
“That is to say, is it, Pussy, that we are both resigned?”