Kensington'--that's in London, I suppose.
And here are his clubs: 'Whitehall and United Service.' Only two; why,
lots of the others have five or six. But papa hasn't got one, even.
Besides, think of _our_ ever being in a book!"
She paused a moment in perplexity. "But where are his children--all
the sons and daughters, and when they were born, and who they married,
and everything? It tells in the dukes and earls. Never mind, though; I
don't need a book for that. Boxton Park, Witham, Essex," she mused. The
posts came back again with the stone balls on top of them; and a few
oriel-windows; and a peacock or two strutting on a terrace. The prospect
widened; ditches and hedge-rows under a low, gray sky, packs of yelping
hounds, hunters following in red coats....
Rosamund went home in a thoughtful mood. It was within a fortnight of
this that she was taking hurdles at her riding-school.
This involved still another horse, and a habit, and a saddle. Rosamund
was teaching her father how to spend money; no other member of the
family, save Truesdale, had ever attempted as much.
"Are we going on forever living in this same old place?" Rosy asked her
mother one day. She had fallen into the way of making comparisons between
Boxton Park and No. two hundred and whatever-it-may-have-been Michigan
Avenue--just as she had made comparisons with the many fine houses where
she had lately been entertained.
"I don't expect to live anywhere forever," replied her mother, tartly.
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