I don't wish you to go home with me.

I'd rather have Mary.
Good-night." And with that last dreadful blow, Rose walked out of the room, leaving Charlie as much astonished as if one of his pet pigeons had flown in his face and pecked at him.

She was so seldom angry, that when her temper did get the better of her it made a deep impression on the lads, for it was generally a righteous sort of indignation at some injustice or wrong-doing, not childish passion.
Her little thunderstorm cleared off in a sob or two as she put on her things in the entry-closet, and when she emerged she looked the brighter for the shower.

A hasty good-night to Aunt Clara now under the hands of the hairdresser and then she crept down to find Mary the maid.

But Mary was out, so was the man, and Rose slipped away by the back-door, flattering herself that she had escaped the awkwardness of having Charlie for escort.
There she was mistaken, however, for the gate had hardly closed behind her when a well-known tramp was heard, and the Prince was beside her, saying in a tone of penitent politeness that banished Rose's wrath like magic, "You needn't speak to me if you don't choose, but I must see you safely home, cousin." She turned at once, put out her hand, and answered heartily, "I was the cross one.