"Because I want to know. That's reason enough, is it not?" replied Grace, sewing away placidly.

"I don't see that it's any affair of yours, Mistress Grace. Jules La Touche is a nuisance!"

"Oh, is he? He wasn't a month or two ago. Whom have you fallen in love with now, Rose?"

"It's no business of yours," said Rose angrily.

"But if I choose to make it my business, my dear, sweet-tempered Rose, what then? Do tell me the name of the last lucky man? I am dying to know."

"Die, then, for you won't know."

"Suppose I know already."

"What?"

"It's not Mr. Stanford, is it?"

Rose gave a gasp--in the suddenness of the surprise, colouring crimson.

Grace saw it all, as she placidly threaded her needle.

"I wouldn't if I were you," she said quietly. "It's of no use, Rose.

Kate is handsomer than you are; and it will only be the old comedy of 'Love's Labour Lost' over again."

"Grace Danton, what do you mean?"

"Now, don't get excited, Rose, and don't raise your voice. Your father might hear you, and that would not be pleasant. It is plain enough. Mr.

Stanford is very handsome, and very fascinating, and very hard to resist, I dare say; but, still, he must be resisted. Mr. La Touche is a very estimable young man, I have no doubt, and of a highly respectable family; and, very likely, will make you an excellent husband. If I were you, I would ask my papa to let me go on another visit to Ottawa, and remain, say, until the end of May. It would do you good, I am sure."

Rose listened to this harangue, her eyes flashing.

"And if I were you, Miss Grace Danton, I would keep my advice until it was asked. Be so good for the future, as to mind your own business, attend to your housekeeping, and let other people's love affairs alone."

With which Rose sailed stormily off, with very red cheeks, and very bright, angry eyes, and sought refuge in a book.

Grace, perfectly unmoved, quite used to Rose's temper, sewed serenely on, and waited for the rest of the family to appear.

Eeny was the next to enter, then came Sir Ronald Keith, who took a chair opposite Captain Danton, and buried himself in another paper. To him, in Kate's absence, the room was empty.

The breakfast bell was ringing when that young lady appeared, beautiful and bright as the sunny morning, in flowing white cashmere, belted with blue, and her lovely golden hair twisted in a coronet of amber braids round her head. She came over to where Rose sat, sulky and silent, and kissed her.

"_Bon jour, ma soeur!_ How do you feel after last night!"

"Very well," said Rose, not looking at her.

"Reginald came home with you?" smiled Kate, toying with Rose's pretty curls.

"Yes," she said, uneasily.

"I am glad. I am so glad that you and he are friends at last."

Rose fidgeted more uneasily still, and said nothing.

"Why was it you didn't like him?" said Kate, coaxingly. "Tell me, my dear."

"I don't know. I liked him well enough," replied Rose, ungraciously. "He was a stranger to me."

"My darling, he will be your brother."

Rose fixed her eyes sullenly on her book.

"You will come to England with us, won't you, Rose--dear old England--and my pretty sister may be my lady yet?"

The door opened again. Mr. Stanford came in.

Rose glanced up shyly.

His face was unusually grave and pale; but all were taking their places, and in the bustle no one noticed it. He did not look at Kate, who saw, with love's quickness, that something was wrong.

All through breakfast Mr. Stanford was very silent, for him. When he did talk, it was to Captain Danton--seldom to any of the ladies.

Grace watched him, wonderingly; Rose watched him furtively, and Kate's morning appet.i.te was effectually taken away.

The meal ended, the family dispersed.

The Captain went to his study, Sir Ronald mounted and rode off, Grace went away to attend to her housekeeping affairs, Eeny to her studies, and Rose hurried up to her room.

The lovers were left alone. Kate took her embroidery. Mr. Stanford was immersed in the paper Captain Danton had lately laid down. There was a prolonged silence, during which the lady worked, and the gentleman read, as if their lives depended on it.

She lifted her eyes from her embroidery to glance his way, and found him looking at her steadfastly--gravely.

"What is it, Reginald?" she exclaimed, impatiently. "What is the matter with you this morning?"

"I am wondering!" said Stanford, gravely.

"Wondering?"

"Yes; if the old adage about seeing being believing is true."

"I don't understand," said Kate, a little haughtily.

Stanford laid down his paper, came over to where she sat, and took a chair near her.

"Something extraordinary has occurred, Kate, which I cannot comprehend.

Shall I tell you what it is?"

"If you please."

"It was last night, then. You know I spent the day and evening with the Howards? It was late--past twelve, when I escorted Rose home; but the night was fine, and tempted me to linger still longer. I turned down the tamarack walk--"