Jenny, premising that she was no authority, stated she imagined she had heard that they were.
'Why ?' said Rose, no doubt because she was desirous of seeing justice dealt to that class.

But Jenny's bosom was a smooth reflector of facts alone.
Rose pondered, and said with compressed eagerness, 'Jenny, do you think you could ever bring yourself to consent to care at all for anybody ever talked of as belonging to them?
Tell me.' Now Jenny had come to Beckley Court to meet William Harvey: she was therefore sufficiently soft to think she could care for him whatever his origin were, and composed in the knowledge that no natal stigma was upon him to try the strength of her affection.

Designing to generalize, as women do (and seem tempted to do most when they are secretly speaking from their own emotions), she said, shyly moving her shoulders, with a forefinger laying down the principle: 'You know, my dear, if one esteemed such a person very very much, and were quite sure, without any doubt, that he liked you in return--that is, completely liked you, and was quite devoted, and made no concealment--I mean, if he was very superior, and like other men--you know what I mean--and had none of the cringing ways some of them have--I mean; supposing him gay and handsome, taking--' 'Just like William,' Rose cut her short; and we may guess her to have had some one in her head for her to conceive that Jenny must be speaking of any one in particular.
A young lady who can have male friends, as well as friends of her own sex, is not usually pressing and secret in her confidences, possibly because such a young lady is not always nursing baby-passions, and does not require her sex's coddling and posseting to keep them alive.

With Rose love will be full grown when it is once avowed, and will know where to go to be nourished.
'Merely an idea I had,' she said to Jenny, who betrayed her mental pre-occupation by putting the question for the questions last.
Her Uncle Melville next received a visit from the restless young woman.
To him she spoke not a word of the inferior classes, but as a special favourite of the diplomatist's, begged a gift of him for her proximate birthday.

Pushed to explain what it was, she said, 'It's something I want you to do for a friend of mine, Uncle Mel.' The diplomatist instanced a few of the modest requests little maids prefer to people they presume to have power to grant.
'No, it's nothing nonsensical,' said Rose; 'I want you to get my friend Evan an appointment.