I don't see how I ever got to be so fond of her."

Mr. Stanford went on with his letter. It was in French, and he wrote very slowly and thoughtfully. He filled the four sides, ending with "Wholly thine, Reginald Stanford." Carefully he re-read, made some erasures, folded, and put it in an envelope. As he sealed the envelope, a big dog came bounding down the bank, and poked its cold, black nose inquisitively in his face.

"Ah! Tiger, _mein Herr_, how are you? Where is your master?"

"Here," said Doctor Frank. "Don't let me intrude. Write the address, by all means."

"As if I would put you _au fait_ of my love letters," said Mr. Stanford, coolly putting the letter in his note-book, and the note-book in his pocket. "I thought you were off to-day?"

"No, to-morrow. I must be up and doing now; I am about tired of St.

Croix and nothing to do."

"Are you ever coming back!"

"Certainly. I shall come back on the fourth of June, Heaven willing, to see you made the happiest man in creation."

"Have a cigar?" said Mr. Stanford, presenting his cigar-case. "I can recommend them. You would be the happiest man in creation in my place, wouldn't you?"

"Most decidedly. But I wasn't born, like some men I know of, with a silver spoon in my mouth. Beautiful wives drop into some men's arms, ripe and ready, but I am not one of them."

"Oh, don't despond! Your turn may come yet!"

"I don't despond--I leave that to--but comparisons are odious."

"Go on."

"To Miss Rose Danton. She is pining on the stem, at the near approach of matrimony, and growing as pale as spirit. What is the matter with her?"

"You ought to know best. You're a doctor."

"But love-sickness; I don't believe there is anything in the whole range of physic to cure that. What's this--a fishing-rod?"

"Yes," said Mr. Stanford, taking a more comfortable position on the gra.s.s. "I thought I would try my luck this fine afternoon, but somehow I don't seem to progress very fast."

"I should think not, indeed. Let me see what I can do."

Reginald watched him lazily, as he dropped the line into the placid water.

"What do you think about it yourself?" he asked, after a pause.

"About what?"

"This new alliance on the tapis. He's a very nice little fellow, I have no doubt; but if I were a pretty girl, I don't think I should like nice little fellows. He is just the last sort of a man in the world I could fancy our bright Rose marrying."

"Of course he is! It's a failing of the s.e.x to marry the very last man their friends would expect. But are you quite sure in this case; no April day was ever more changeable than Rose Danton."

"I don't know what you mean. They'll be married to a dead certainty."

"What will you bet on the event?"

"I'm not rich enough to bet; but if I were, it wouldn't be honourable, you know."

Doctor Frank gave him a queer look, as he hooked a fish out of the water.

"Oh, if it becomes a question of honour, I have no more to say. Do you see this fellow wriggling on my hook?"

"Yes."

"Well, when this fish swims again, Rose Danton will be Mrs. La Touche, and you know it."

He said the last words so significantly, and with such a look, that all the blood of all the Stanfords rushed red to Reginald's face.

"The deuce take your inuendoes!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

"Don't ask me," said Doctor Frank. "I hate to tell a lie: and I won't say what I suspect. Suppose we change the subject. Where is Sir Ronald Keith?"

"In New Brunswick, doing the wild-woods and shooting bears. Poor wretch!

With all his eight thousand a year, and that paradise in Scotland, Glen Keith, I don't envy him. I never saw anyone so hopelessly hard hit as he."

"You're a fortunate fellow, Stanford; but I doubt if you know it. Sir Ronald would be a far happier man in your place."

The face of the young Englishman darkened suddenly.

"Perhaps there is such a thing as being too fortunate, and getting satiated. I wish I could be steadfast, and firm, and faithful forever to one thing, like some men, but I can't. Sir Ronald's one of that kind, and so are you, Danton; but I--"

He threw his cigar into the water, and left the sentence unfinished.

There was a long silence. Doctor Frank fished away as if his life depended on it; and Stanford lay and watched him, and thought--who knows what?

The May afternoon wore on, the slanting lines of the red sunset flamed in the tree-tops, and shed its reflected glory on the placid water. The hum of evening bustle came up from the village drowsily; and Doctor Danton, laying down his line, looked at his watch.

"Are you asleep, Stanford? Do you know it is six o'clock?"

"By George!" said Reginald, starting up. "I had no idea it was so late.

Are you for the Hall?"

"Of course. Don't I deserve my dinner in return for this string of silvery fish? Come along."

The two young men walked leisurely and rather silently homeward. As they entered the gates, they caught sight of a young lady advancing slowly towards them--a young lady dressed in pale pink, with ribbons fluttering and curls flowing.

"The first rose of summer!" said Doctor Frank. "The future Madame La Touche!"

"Have you come to meet us, Rose?" asked Stanford. "Very polite of you."

"I won't be _de trop_," said the Doctor; "I'll go on."

Rose turned with Reginald, and Doctor Danton walked away, leaving them to follow at their leisure.

In the entrance Hall he met Kate, stately and beautiful, dressed in rustling silk, and with flowers in her golden hair.