She turned and went into the house. No more dreary rambles round the fish-pond. Rose was happy again.

Suicide was indefinitely postponed, and Kate might become the nun, not she. Kate was his promised wife; but there is many a slip; and the second Miss Danton ran up to her room, singing, "New hope may bloom."

If Rose's heart had been broken, she would have dressed herself carefully all the same. There was to be a dinner-party at the house that evening, and among the guests a viscount recently come over to shoot moose. The viscount was forty, but unmarried, with a long rent-roll, and longer pedigree; and who knew what effect sparkling hazel eyes and gold-bronzed hair, and honeyed smiles, might have upon him? So Eunice was called in, and the auburn tresses freshly curled, and a sweeping robe of silvery silk, trimmed with rich lace, donned. The lovely bare neck and arms were adorned with pale pearls, and the falling curls were jauntily looped back with cl.u.s.ters of pearl beads.

"You do look lovely, Miss!" cried Eunice, in irrepressible admiration.

"I never saw you look so 'andsome before. The dress is the becomingest dress you've got, and you look splendid, you do!"

Rose flashed a triumphant glance at her own face in the mirror.

"Do I, Eunice? Do I look almost as handsome as Kate?"

"You are 'andsomer sometimes, Miss Rose, to my taste. If Miss Kate 'ad red cheeks, now; but she's as w'ite sometimes as marble."

"So she is; but some people admire that style. I suppose Mr. Stanford does--eh, Eunice?"

"I dare say he does, Miss."

"Do you think Mr. Stanford handsome, Eunice?" carelessly.

"Very 'andsome, Miss, and so pleasant. Not 'igh and 'aughty, like some young gentlemen I've seen. Heverybody likes 'im."

"What is Kate going to wear this evening?" said Rose, her heart fluttering at the praise.

"The black lace, miss, and her pearls. She looks best in blue, but she will wear black."

"How is Agnes Darling getting on?" asked Rose, jumping to another topic.

"I haven't seen her for two days."

"Getting better, Miss; she is hable to be up halmost hall the time; but she's failed away to a shadow. Is there hanythink more, Miss?"

"Nothing more, thank you. You may go."

Eunice departed; and Rose, sinking into a rocker, beguiled the time until dinner with a book. She heard Mr. Stanford and Kate coming upstairs together, laughing at something, and go to their rooms to dress.

"I wonder if he will miss part of his letter," she thought, nervously.

"What would he say if I gave it to him, and told him I had read it? No!

I dare not do that. I will say nothing about it, and let him fidget as much as he likes over the loss."

Rose descended to the drawing-room as the last bell rang, and found herself bowing to half a dozen strangers--Colonel Lord Ellerton among the rest. Lord Ellerton, who was very like Lord Dundreary every way you took him, gave his arm to Kate, and Stanford, with a smile and an indescribable glance, took possession of Rose.

"Has your fairy G.o.dmother been dressing you, Rose? I never saw you look so bewildering. What is it?"

Rose shook back her curls saucily, though tingling to her finger-ends at the praise.

"My fairy G.o.dmother's G.o.ddaughter would not bewilder you much, if Cleopatra yonder were not taken possession of by that ill-looking peer of the realm. I am well enough as a dernier resort."

"How much of that speech do you mean? Are you looking beautiful to captivate the viscount?"

"I am looking beautiful because I can't help it, and I never stoop to captivate any one, Mr. Stanford--not even a viscount. By-the-by, you haven't quarrelled with Kate, have you?"

"Certainly not. Why should I?"

"Of course--why should you! She has a perfect right to walk in the grounds at midnight with any gentleman she chooses."

She said it rather bitterly. Stanford smiled provokingly.

"_Chacun a son gout_, you know. If Kate likes midnight rambles, she must have a cavalier, of course. When she is Mrs. Stanford I shall endeavour to break her of that habit."

"Did you tell her I was with you?" demanded Rose, her eyes flashing.

"My dear Rose, I never tell tales. By-the-way, when shall we have another moonlight stroll? It seems to me I see very little of you lately."

"We will have no more midnight strolls, Mr. Stanford," said Rose, sharply; "and you see quite as much of me as I wish you to see. My lord--I beg your pardon--were you addressing me?"

She turned from Stanford, sitting beside her and talking under the cover of the clatter of spoons and knives, and flashed the light of her most dazzling smile upon Lord Ellerton, sitting opposite. Yes, the peer was addressing her--some question he wanted to know concerning the native Canadians, and which Kate was incapable of answering.

Rose knew all about it, and took his lordship in tow immediately. All the witcheries known to pretty little flirts were brought to bear on the viscount, as once before they had been brought to bear on Sir Ronald Keith.

Kate smiled across at Reginald, and surrendered the peer at once. King or Kaiser were less than nothing to her in comparison with that handsome idol on the other side of the table.

Dinner was over, and the ladies gone. In the drawing-room Kate seated herself at the piano, to sing a bewildering duet with Rose. Before it was ended the gentlemen appeared, and once more Lord Ellerton found himself taken captive and seated beside Rose--how, he hardly knew. How that tongue of hers ran! And all the time Lord Ellerton's eyes were wandering to Kate. Like Sir Ronald, pretty Rose's witcheries fell short of the mark; the stately loveliness of Kate eclipsed her, as the sun eclipses stars. When at last he could, without discourtesy, get away, he arose, bowed to the young lady, and, crossing the long, drawing-room, took his stand by the piano, where Kate still sat and sung. Stanford was leaning against the instrument, but he resigned his place to the viscount, and an instant later was beside Rose.

"Exchange is no robbery," he said. "Is it any harm to ask how you have succeeded?"

Rose looked up angrily into the laughing dark eyes.

"I don't know what you mean."

"My dear little artless Rose! Shall I put it plainer? When are you to be Lady Ellerton?"

"Mr. Stanford--"

"My dear Rose, don't be cross. He is too old and too ugly--low be it spoken--for the prettiest girl in Canada!"

"Meaning me?"

"Meaning you."

"Why don't you except Kate?"

"Because I think you are prettier than Kate?"

"You don't! I know better! I don't believe you!"

"Disbelieve me, then."

"You think there is no one in the world like Kate."