Rose in Bloom by Louisa May Alcott

while it charmed the novice.

Dr. Alec understood the mood in which he found her and did his

best to warn without saddening by too much worldly wisdom.

“You are something besides an heiress to those who know and love

you, so take heart, my girl, and hold fast to the faith that is in you.

There is a touchstone for all these things, and whatever does not

ring true, doubt and avoid. Test and try men and women as they

come along, and I am sure conscience, instinct, and experience

will keep you from any dire mistake,” he said, with a protecting

arm about her and a trustful look that was very comforting.

After a moment’s pause she answered, while a sudden smile

dimpled around her mouth and the big glove went up to hide her

telltale cheeks: “Uncle, if I must have lovers, I do wish they’d be

more interesting. How can I like or respect men who go on as

some of them do and then imagine women can feel honored by the

offer of their hands? Hearts are out of fashion, so they don’t say

much about them.?

“Ah, ha! That is the trouble, is it? And we begin to have delicate

distresses, do we?” said Dr. Alec, glad to see her brightening and

full of interest in the new topic, for he was a romantic old fellow,

as he had confessed to his brother.

Rose put down the glove and looked up with a droll mixture of

amusement and disgust in her face. “Uncle, it is perfectly

disgraceful! I’ve wanted to tell you, but I was ashamed, because I

never could boast of such things as some girls do, and they were so

absurd I couldn’t feel as if they were worth repeating even to you.

Perhaps I ought, though, for you may think it proper to command

me to make a good match, and of course I should have to obey,”

she added, trying to look meek.

“Tell, by all means. Don’t I always keep your secrets and give you

the best advice, like a model guardian? You must have a confidant,

and where find a better one than here?” he asked, tapping his

waistcoat with an inviting gesture.

“Nowhere so I’ll tell all but the names. I’d best be prudent, for I’m

afraid you may get a little fierce you do sometimes when people

vex me,” began Rose, rather liking the prospect of a confidential

chat with Uncle, for he had kept himself a good deal in the

background lately.

“You know our ideas are old-fashioned, so I was not prepared to

have men propose at all times and places with no warning but a

few smiles and soft speeches. I expected things of that sort would

be very interesting and proper, not to say thrilling, on my part but

they are not, and I find myself laughing instead of crying, feeling

angry instead of glad, and forgetting all about it very soon. Why,

Uncle, one absurd boy proposed when we’d met only half a dozen

times. But he was dreadfully in debt, so that accounted for it

perhaps.” And Rose dusted her fingers, as if she had soiled them.

“I know him, and I thought he’d do it,” observed the doctor with a

shrug.

“You see and know everything, so there’s no need of going on, is

there??

“Do, do! Who else? I won’t even guess.?

“Well, another went down upon his knees in Mrs. Van’s

greenhouse and poured forth his passion manfully, with a great

cactus pricking his poor legs all the while. Kitty found him there,

and it was impossible to keep sober, so he has hated me ever

since.?

The doctor’s “Ha! Ha!” was good to hear, and Rose joined him, for

it was impossible to regard these episodes seriously, since no true

sentiment redeemed them from absurdity.

“Another sent me reams of poetry and went on so Byronically that

I began to wish I had red hair and my name was Betsy Ann. I burnt

all the verses, so don’t expect to see them, and he, poor fellow, is

consoling himself with Emma. But the worst of all was the one

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