You are welcome.

It would suit me, and it would suit Mr.Whitman." Rose looked at Sylvia in amazement as she knelt stiffly on the floor unlocking her trunk.

"Thank you, you are very kind," she said, feebly.

She had a slight sensation of fear at such a wealth of hospitality offered her from a stranger, although she was a distant relative.
"You know this was your own aunt's house and your own aunt's things," said Sylvia, beginning to remove articles from the trunk, "and I want you to feel at home here--just as if you had a right here." The words were cordial, but there was a curious effect as if she were repeating a well-rehearsed lesson.
"Thank you," Rose said again, more feebly than before.

She watched Sylvia lifting out gingerly a fluffy white gown, which trailed over her lean arm to the floor.