By all means, Rosa, if you wish it. Might I ask why?
O! because I dont want the girls to see you.
Its a fine day; but would you like me to carry an umbrella up?
Dont be foolish, sir. You havent got polished leather boots on, pouting, with one shoulder raised.
Perhaps that might escape the notice of the girls, even if they did see me, remarks Edwin, looking down at his boots with a sudden distaste for them.
Nothing escapes their notice, sir. And then I know what would happen. Some of them would begin reflecting on me by saying (for they are free) that they never will on any account engage themselves to lovers without polished leather boots. Hark! Miss Twinkleton. Ill ask for leave.
That discreet lady being indeed heard without, inquiring of nobody in a blandly conversational tone as she advances: Eh? Indeed! Are you quite sure you saw my mother-of-pearl button-holder on the work-table in my room? is at once solicited for walking leave, and graciously accords it. And soon the young couple go out of the Nuns House, taking all precautions against the discovery of the so vitally defective boots of Mr. Edwin Drood: precautions, let us hope, effective for the peace of Mrs. Edwin Drood that is to be.
Which way shall we take, Rosa?
Rosa replies: I want to go to the Lumps-of-Delight shop.
To the ?
A Turkish sweetmeat, sir. My gracious me, dont you understand anything? Call yourself an Engineer, and not know that?
Why, how should I know it, Rosa?
Because I am very fond of them. But O! I forgot what we are to pretend. No, you neednt know anything about them; never mind.
So he is gloomily borne off to the Lumps-of-Delight shop, where Rosa makes her purchase, and, after offering some to him (which he rather indignantly declines), begins to partake of it with great zest: previously taking off and rolling up a pair of little pink gloves, like rose-leaves, and occasionally putting her little pink fingers to her rosy lips, to cleanse them from the Dust of Delight that comes off the Lumps.
Now, be a good-tempered Eddy, and pretend. And so you are engaged?
And so I am engaged.
Is she nice?
Charming.
Tall?
Immensely tall! Rosa being short.
Must be gawky, I should think, is Rosas quiet commentary.
I beg your pardon; not at all, contradiction rising in him.
What is termed a fine woman; a splendid woman.
Big nose, no doubt, is the quiet commentary again.
Not a little one, certainly, is the quick reply, (Rosas being a little one.)
Long pale nose, with a red knob in the middle. I know the sort of nose, says Rosa, with a satisfied nod, and tranquilly enjoying the Lumps.
You dont know the sort of nose, Rosa, with some warmth; because its nothing of the kind.
Not a pale nose, Eddy?
No. Determined not to assent.
A red nose? O! I dont like red noses. However; to be sure she can always powder it.
She would scorn to powder it, says Edwin, becoming heated.
Would she? What a stupid thing she must be! Is she stupid in everything?
No; in nothing.
After a pause, in which the whimsically wicked face has not been unobservant of him, Rosa says:
And this most sensible of creatures likes the idea of being carried off to Egypt; does she, Eddy?
Yes. She takes a sensible interest in triumphs of engineering skill: especially when they are to change the whole condition of an undeveloped country.
Lor! says Rosa, shrugging her shoulders, with a little laugh of wonder.
Do you object, Edwin inquires, with a majestic turn of his eyes downward upon the fairy figure: do you object, Rosa, to her feeling that interest?
Object? my dear Eddy! But really, doesnt she hate boilers and things?
I can answer for her not being so idiotic as to hate Boilers, he returns with angry emphasis; though I cannot answer for her views about Things; really not understanding what Things are meant.
But dont she hate Arabs, and Turks, and Fellahs, and people?
Certainly not. Very firmly.
At least she must hate the Pyramids? Come, Eddy?
Why should she be such a little tall, I mean goose, as to hate the Pyramids, Rosa?
Ah! you should hear Miss Twinkleton, often nodding her head, and much enjoying the Lumps, bore about them, and then you wouldnt ask. Tiresome old burying-grounds! Isises, and Ibises, and Cheopses, and Pharaohses; who cares about them? And then there was Belzoni, or somebody, dragged out by the legs, half-choked with bats and dust. All the girls say: Serve him right, and hope it hurt him, and wish he had been quite choked.
The two youthful figures, side by side, but not now arm-in-arm, wander discontentedly about the old Close; and each sometimes stops and slowly imprints a deeper footstep in the fallen leaves.
Well! says Edwin, after a lengthy silence. According to custom. We cant get on, Rosa.
Rosa tosses her head, and says she dont want to get on.
Thats a pretty sentiment, Rosa, considering.
Considering what?
If I say what, youll go wrong again.
Youll go wrong, you mean, Eddy. Dont be ungenerous.
Ungenerous! I like that!
Then I dont like that, and so I tell you plainly, Rosa pouts.
Now, Rosa, I put it to you. Who disparaged my profession, my destination
You are not going to be buried in the Pyramids, I hope? she interrupts, arching her delicate eyebrows. You never said you were. If you are, why havent you mentioned it to me? I cant find out your plans by instinct.
Now, Rosa, you know very well what I mean, my dear.
Well then, why did you begin with your detestable red-nosed giantesses? And she would, she would, she would, she would, she would powder it! cries Rosa, in a little burst of comical contradictory spleen.
Somehow or other, I never can come right in these discussions, says Edwin, sighing and becoming resigned.
How is it possible, sir, that you ever can come right when youre always wrong? And as to Belzoni, I suppose hes dead; Im sure I hope he is and how can his legs or his chokes concern you?
It is nearly time for your return, Rosa. We have not had a very happy walk, have we?
A happy walk? A detestably unhappy walk, sir. If I go up-stairs the moment I get in and cry till I cant take my dancing lesson, you are responsible, mind!
Let us be friends, Rosa.
Ah! cries Rosa, shaking her head and bursting into real tears, I wish we could be friends! Its because we cant be friends, that we try one another so. I am a young little thing, Eddy, to have an old heartache; but I really, really have, sometimes. Dont be angry. I know you have one yourself too often. We should both of us have done better, if What is to be had been left What might have been. I am quite a little serious thing now, and not teasing you. Let each of us forbear, this one time, on our own account, and on the others!
Disarmed by this glimpse of a womans nature in the spoilt child, though for an instant disposed to resent it as seeming to involve the enforced infliction of himself upon her, Edwin Drood stands watching her as she childishly cries and sobs, with both hands to the handkerchief at her eyes, and then she becoming more composed, and indeed beginning in her young inconstancy to laugh at herself for having been so moved leads her to a seat hard by, under the elm-trees.