human
Now, Rose, tell me the name of this lady who denied that I was sentimental,
gpt
I can't. I don't know her name.
human
Describe her to me. What was she like? Where did you see her?
gpt
When Jessy and I went to spend the day at Whinbury with Kate and Susan Pearson, who were just come home from school, there was a party at Mrs. Pearson's, and some grown-up ladies were sitting in a corner of the drawing-room talking about you.
human
Did you know none of them?
gpt
Hannah, and Harriet, and Dora, and Mary Sykes.
human
Good. Were they abusing me, Rosy?
gpt
Some of them were. They called you a misanthrope. I remember the word. I looked for it in the dictionary when I came home. It means a man-hater.
human
What besides?
gpt
Hannah Sykes said you were a solemn puppy.
human
Better! cried Mr. Yorke, laughing.
gpt
Oh, excellent! Hannah! that's the one with the red hair--a fine girl, but half-witted.
human
She has wit enough for me, it appears, said Moore.
gpt
A solemn puppy, indeed! Well, Rose, go on.
human
Miss Pearson said she believed there was a good deal of affectation about you, and that with your dark hair and pale face you looked to her like some sort of a sentimental noodle.
gpt
You see in what esteem you are held behind your back, said she;
human
And who contradicted her, Rosy?
gpt
A lady whom I don't know, because she never visits here, though I see her every Sunday at church. She sits in the pew near the pulpit. I generally look at her, instead of looking at my prayer-book, for she is like a picture in our dining-room, that woman with the dove in her hand--at least she has eyes like it, and a nose too, a straight nose, that makes all her face look, somehow, what I call clear.
human
And you don't know her! exclaimed Jessy, in a tone of exceeding surprise.
gpt
That's so like Rose. Mr. Moore, I often wonder in what sort of a world my sister lives. I am sure she does not live all her time in this. One is continually finding out that she is quite ignorant of some little matter which everybody else knows. To think of her going solemnly to church every Sunday, and looking all service-time at one particular person, and never so much as asking that person's name. She means Caroline Helstone, the rector's niece. I remember all about it. Miss Helstone was quite angry with Anne Pearson. She said, 'Robert Moore is neither affected nor sentimental; you mistake his character utterly, or rather not one of you here knows anything about it.' Now, shall I tell you what she is like? I can tell what people are like, and how they are dressed, better than Rose can.
human
Let us hear.
gpt
She is nice; she is fair; she has a pretty white slender throat; she has long curls, not stiff ones--they hang loose and soft, their colour is brown but not dark; she speaks quietly, with a clear tone; she never makes a bustle in moving; she often wears a gray silk dress; she is neat all over--her gowns, and her shoes, and her gloves always fit her. She is what I call a lady, and when I am as tall as she is, I mean to be like her. Shall I suit you if I am? Will you really marry me?
human
Oh! you won't have me? You push me away.
gpt
Why, Jessy, you care nothing about me. You never come to see me now at the Hollow.
human
Because you don't ask me.