"Not half a bad tableau," the Doctor said, removing his inevitable cigar; "lovely women, brave men, moonlight, and balmy breezes. You don't go in for this sort of thing, _ma soeur_? No, I suppose not. Our good-looking Englishman skates well, by the way. What do you think of him, Grace?"

"I think with you, that he is a good-looking young Englishman."

"Nothing more?"

"That the eldest Miss Danton is hopelessly and helplessly in love with him, and that it is rather a pity. Rose would suit him better."

"Ah! sagacious as usual, Grace. Who knows but the Hon. Reginald thinks so too. Where is our dark Scotchman to-night?"

"Sir Ronald? Gone to Montreal."

"Is he coming back?"

"I don't know. Very likely. If it were to murder Mr. Stanford he would come back with pleasure."

"He is a little jealous, then?"

"Just a little. There is the Captain calling you. Go."

They went over. Captain Danton whirled round and came to a halt at sight of them.

"Here, Frank," he said; "I'm getting tired of this. Take my skates, and let us see what you are capable of on ice."

Doctor Frank put on the skates, and struck off.

Rose, flashing past, gave him a bright backward glance.

"Catch me, Doctor Danton!" she cried. "Catch me if you can!"

"A fair field and no favour!" exclaimed Stanford, wheeling round. "Come on Danton; I am going to try, too."

Eeny and Kate stood still to watch.

The group on the bank were absorbed in the chase. Doctor Danton was the better skater of the two; but fleet-footed Rose outstripped both.

"Ten to one on the Doctor!" cried the Captain, excited. "Reginald is nowhere!"

"I don't bet," said Grace; "but neither will catch Rose if Rose likes."

Round and round the fish-pond the trio flew--Rose still ahead, the Doctor outstripping the Lieutenant. The chase was getting exciting.

There was no chance of gaining on Rose by following her. Danton tried strategy. As she wheeled airily around, he abruptly turned, headed her off, and caught her with a rebound in his arms.

"By Jove!" cried the Captain, delighted, "he has her. Reginald, my boy, you are beaten."

"I told you you stood no chance, Stanford," said the Doctor.

"What am I to have for my pains, Miss Rose?"

"Stoop down and you'll see."

He bent his head. A stinging box on the ear rewarded him, and Rose was off, flying over the glittering ice and out of reach.

"Beaten, Reginald," said Kate, as he drew near. "For shame, sir."

"Beaten, but not defeated," answered her lover; "a Stanford never yields. Rose shall be my prize yet."

Rose had whirled round the pond, and was pa.s.sing. He looked at her as he spoke; but her answer was a flash of the eye and a curl of the lip as she flew on. Kate saw it, and looked after her, puzzled and thoughtful.

"Reginald," she said, when, the skating over, they were all sauntering back to the house, "what have you done to Rose?"

Reginald Stanford raised his dark eyebrows.

"Done to her! What do you imagine I have done to her?"

"Nothing; but why, then, does she dislike you so?"

"Am I so unfortunate as to have incurred your pretty sister's dislike?"

"Don't you see it? She avoids you. She will not talk to you, or sing for you, or take your arm, or join us when we go out. I never saw her treat any gentleman with such pointed coldness before."

"Extraordinary," said Mr. Stanford, with profoundest gravity; "I am the most unlucky fellow in the world. What shall I do to overcome your fair sister's aversion?"

"Perhaps you do not pay her attention enough. Rose knows she is very pretty, and is jealously exacting in her demands for admiration and devotion. Sir Ronald gave her mortal offence the first evening he came, by his insensibility. She has never forgiven him, and never will. Devote yourself more to her and less to me, and perhaps Rose will consent to let you bask in the light of her smile."

He looked at her with an odd glance. She was smiling, but in earnest too. She loved her sister and her lover so well, that she felt uncomfortable until they were friends; and her heart was too great and faithful for the faintest spark of jealousy. He had lifted the hand that wore his ring to his lips.

"Your wishes are my law. I shall do my best to please Rose from to-night."

That evening, for the first time, Stanford took a seat beside Rose, and did his best to be agreeable. Kate smiled approval from her place at the piano, and Doctor Danton, on the other side of Rose, heard and saw all, and did not quite understand. But Rose was still offended, and declined to relent. It was hard to resist that persuasive voice, but she did. She hardened herself resolutely at the thought of how he had deceived her--he who was soon to be her sister's husband. Rose got up abruptly, excused herself, and left the room.

When the family were dispersing to their chambers that night, Reginald lingered to speak to Kate.

"I have failed, you see," he said.

"Rose is a mystery," said Kate, vexed; "she has quite a new way of acting. But you know," smiling radiantly, "a Stanford never yields."

"True. It is discouraging, but I shall try again. Good-night, dearest and best, and pleasant dreams--of me."

He ascended to his bedroom, lamp in hand. A fire blazed in the grate; and sitting down before it, his coat off, his slippers on, his hands in his pockets, he gazed at it with knitted brow, and whistling softly. For half an hour he sat, still as a statue. Then he got up, found his writing-case, and sat down to indite a letter. He was singing the f.a.g-end of something as he dipped his pen in the ink.

"Bind the sea to slumber stilly-- Bind its odour to the lily-- Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver-- Then bind love to last forever!"

"Danton Hall, February 26, 18--

"My Dear Lauderdale: I think I promised, when I left Windsor, to write to tell you how I got on in this horribly Arctic region. It is nearly two months since I left Windsor, and my conscience (don't laugh--I have discovered that I have a conscience) gives me sundry twinges when I think of you. I don't feel like sleeping to-night. I am full of my subject, so here goes.

"In the first place, Miss Danton is well, and as much of in angel as ever. In the second place, Danton Hall is delightful, and holds more angels than one. In the third place, Ronald Keith is here, and half mad with jealousy. The keenest north wind that has ever blown since I came to Canada is not half so freezing as he. Alas, poor Yorick! He is a fine fellow, too, and fought like a lion in the Russian trenches; but there was Sampson, and David, and Solomon, and Marc Antony--you know what love did to them one and all.