"Have you seen Mr. Stanford?" she asked, glancing askance at the fish.

"Yes; he is in the grounds with Rose."

She smiled, and went past. Doctor Frank looked after her with a glance of unmistakable admiration.

"Blind! blind! blind!" he thought. "What fools men are! Only children of a larger growth, throwing away gold for the pitiful glistening of tinsel."

Kate caught a glimpse of a pink skirt, fluttering in and out among the trees, and made for it. Her light step on the sward gave back no echo.

How earnestly Reginald was talking--how consciously Rose was listening with downcast face! What was that he was giving her? A letter! Surely not; and yet how much it looked like it. Another moment, and she was beside them, and Rose had started away from Reginald's side, her face crimson. If ever guilt's red banner hung on any countenance, it did on hers; and Kate's eyes wandered wonderingly from one to the other. Mr.

Stanford was as placid as the serene sunset sky above them. Like Talleyrand, if he had been kicked from behind, his face would never have shown it.

"I thought you were away fishing," said Kate. "Was Rose with you?"

"I was not so blessed. I had only Doctor Frank--Oh, don't be in a hurry to leave us; it is not dinner-time yet."

This last to Rose, who was edging off, still the picture of confusion, and one hand clutching something white, hidden in the folds of her dress. With a confused apology, she turned suddenly, and disappeared among the trees. Kate fixed her large, deep eyes suspiciously on her lover's laughing face.

"Well?" she said, inquiringly.

"Well?" he repeated, mimicking her tone.

"What is the meaning of all this?"

Stanford laughed carelessly, and drew her hand within his arm.

"It means, my dear, that pretty sister of yours is a goose! I paid her a compliment, and she blushed after it, at sight of you, as if I had been talking love to her. Come, let us have a walk before dinner."

"I thought I saw you give her something? Was it a letter?"

Not a muscle of his face moved; not a shadow of change was in his tone, as he answered:

"A letter! Of course not. You heard her the other day ask me for that old English song that I sang? I wrote it out this afternoon, and gave it to her. Are you jealous, Kate?"

"Dreadfully! Don't you go paying compliments to Rose, sir; reserve them for me. Come down the tamarack walk."

Leaning fondly on his arm, Kate walked with her lover up and down the green avenue until the dinner-bell summoned them in.

And all the time, Rose, up in her own room, was reading, with flushed cheeks and glistening eyes, that letter written by the brook-side, beginning, "Angel of my Dreams."

When the family a.s.sembled at dinner, it was found that Rose was absent.

A servant sent in search of her returned with word that Miss Rose had a headache, and begged they would excuse her.

Kate went up to her room immediately after dinner. But found it locked.

She rapped, and called, but there was no sign, and no response from within.

"She is asleep," thought Kate; and went down again.

She tried again, some hours later, on her way to her own room, but still was unable to obtain entrance or answer. If she could only have seen her, sitting by the window reading and re-reading that letter in French, beginning "Angel of my Dreams."

Rose came down to breakfast next morning quite well again. The morning's post had brought her a letter from Quebec, and she read it as she sipped her coffee.

"Is it from Virginie Leblanc?" asked Eeny. "She is your only correspondent in Quebec."

Rose nodded and went on reading.

"What does she want?" Eeny persisted.

"She wants me to pay her a visit," said Rose, folding up her letter.

"And of course you won't go?"

"No--yes--I don't know."

She spoke absently, crumbling the roll on her plate, and not eating. She lingered in the room after breakfast, when all the rest had left it, looking out of the window. She was still there when, half an hour later, Grace came in to sew; but not alone. Mr. Stanford was standing beside her, and Grace caught his last low words:

"It is the most fortunate thing that could have happened. Don't lose any time."

He saw Grace and stopped, spoke to her, and sauntered out of the room.

Rose did not turn from the window for fully ten minutes. When she did, it was to ask where her father was.

"In his study."

She left the room and went to the study. Captain Danton looked up from his writing, at her entrance, in some surprise.

"Don't choke me, my dear, what is it?"

"Papa, may I go to Quebec?"

"Quebec? My dear, how can you go?"

"Very easily, papa. Virginie wants me to go, and I should like to see her. I won't stay there long."

"But all your wedding finery, Rose--how is it to be made if you go away?"

"It is nearly all made, papa; and for what remains they can get along just as well without me. Papa, say yes. I want to go dreadfully; and I will only stay a week or so. Do say yes, there's a darling papa!"

"Well, my dear, go, if you wish; but don't forget to come back in time.

It will never do for M. La Touche to come here the fourth of June and find his bride missing."

"I won't stay in Quebec until June, papa," said Rose, kissing him and running out of the room. He called after her as she was shutting the door:

"Doctor Frank goes to Montreal this afternoon. If you are ready, you might go with him."

"Yes, papa; I'll be ready."

Rose set to work packing at once, declining all a.s.sistance. She filled her trunk with all her favourite dresses; stowed away all her jewellery--taking a very unnecessary amount of luggage, one would think, for a week's visit.

Every one was surprised, at luncheon, when Rose's departure was announced. None more so than Mr. Stanford.