It is because I am angry.

I am going to set the table." But Rose did not set the table.

She forgot all about it when she had entered the south room and found Henry Whitman sitting there with the Sunday paper.

She sat down opposite and looked at him with her clear, blue, childlike eyes.

She had come to call him Uncle Henry.
"Uncle Henry ?" said she, interrogatively, and waited.
Henry looked across at her and smiled with the somewhat abashed tenderness which he always felt for this girl, whose environment had been so very different from his and his wife's.