Kate looked up at the smiling face of the Doctor, a new light dawning on her.

"Oh, he has never told you! For shame, Frank, to shock her so! My darling, did you not know I was here?"

"No; he never told me," Rose said, sinking into a chair, and looking hopelessly at her sister. "What does it mean, Kate? Is papa here?"

"I leave the onerous duty of explaining everything to you, Kate," said the Doctor, before Kate could reply. "I am going down stairs to smoke."

"That provoking fellow!" Kate said, smilingly, looking after him; "it is just like him."

"Is papa here?" Rose repeated, wonderingly.

"No, my dear; papa is at Danton Hall, with his wife. It was impossible for him to come."

"Then how do you happen to be here, and with Doctor Frank?"

Kate laughed--such a sweet, clear, happy laugh--as she kissed Rose's wondering face.

"For the very best reason in the world, Mrs. Stanford! Because I happen to be Doctor Frank's wife!"

Rose sat, confounded, speechless--literally struck dumb--staring helplessly.

"His wife!" she repeated. "His wife!" and then sat lost in overwhelming amaze.

"Yes, my dear; his happy wife. I do not wonder you are astonished, knowing the past; but it is a long story to tell. I am ashamed to think how wicked and disagreeable, and perverse, I used to be; but it is all over now. I think there is no one in all the wide world like Frank!"

Her eyes filled as she said it, and she laid her face for a moment on her sister's shoulder.

"I was blind in those past days, Rose, and too prejudiced to do justice to a n.o.ble man's worth. I love my husband with my whole heart--with an affection that can never change."

"And you forgive me?"

"I forgave you long ago. Is this the baby? How pretty! Give him to me."

She took Master Reginald in her arms, and kissed his chubby face.

"To think that you should ever nurse Reginald Stanford's child! How odd!" said Rose, languidly.

The colour rushed into Mrs. Frank Danton's face for a second or two, as she stooped over the baby.

"Strange things happen in this world. I shall be very fond of the baby, I know."

"And Grace, whom you disliked so much, is your mother and sister both together. How very queer!"

Kate laughed.

"It is odd, but quite true. Come, take your things off; you are not to leave us again. We will send to your lodgings for your luggage."

"How long have you been married?" asked Rose, as she obeyed.

"Three weeks; and this is our bridal tour. We depart for Paris in two days. You know Frank has had a fortune."

"I don't know anything. Do tell me all about it--your marriage and everything. I am dying of curiosity."

Mrs. Doctor Danton seated herself in a low chair, with Reginald Stanford's first-born in her lap, and began recapitulating as much of the past as was necessary to enlighten Mrs. Stanford.

"So he saved Eeny's life; and you nursed him, and fell in love with him, and married him, and his old uncle dies and leaves him a fortune in the nick of time. It sounds like a fairy tale; you ought to finish with--'and they lived happy forever after!'"

"Please Heaven, we will! Such real-life romance happens every day, sister mine. Oh, by-the-by, guess who was at our wedding?"

"Who?"

"A very old friend of yours, my dear--Monsieur Jules La Touche."

"No! Was he, though? How did you come to invite him?"

"He chanced to be in the neighbourhood at the time. Do you know, Rose, I should not be surprised if he accomplished his destiny yet, and became papa's son-in-law."

Rose looked up, breathlessly, thinking only of herself.

"Impossible, Kate!--What do you mean?"

"Not at all impossible, I a.s.sure you. Eeny was my bride-maid, and you have no idea how pretty she looked; and so Monsieur La Touche seemed to think, by the very marked attention he paid her. It would be an excellent thing for her; he is in a fair way of becoming a millionaire."

A pang of the bitterest envy and mortification she had ever felt, pierced Rose Stanford's heart. Oh! what a miserable--what an unfortunate creature she had been! She turned away, that her sister might not see her face, and Kate carelessly went on.

"Eeny always liked him, I know. She likes him better than ever now. I shall not be at all surprised if we find her engaged when we go home."

"Indeed!" Rose said, trying to speak naturally, and failing signally.

"And when are we going home?"

"Early in November, I believe. Frank and I are to make Montreal our home, for he will not give up his profession, of course; and you shall come and live with us if you like the city better than St. Croix."

Rose's slumbers that night were sadly disturbed. It was not the contrast between her handsome bedroom and downy pillows, and the comfortless little chamber she had slept in so long; it was not thought of her sister's goodness and generosity: it was the image of Eeny, in silk and jewels, the bride of Jules La Touche, the millionaire.

Somehow, unacknowledged in her heart of hearts, there had lingered a hope of vengeance on her husband, triumph for herself as the wife of her deserted lover! There would be a divorce, and then she might legally marry. She had no conscientious scruples about that sort of marriages, and she took it for granted Monsieur La Touche could have none either.

But now these hopes were nipped in the bud. Eeny--younger, fresher, fairer, perhaps--was to have him and the splendid position his wife must attain; and she was to be a miserable, poor, deserted wife all her days.

I am afraid Mrs. Stanford was not properly thankful for her blessings that night. She had thought, only one day before, that to find her friends and be forgiven by them would be the sum total of earthly happiness; but now she had found them, and was forgiven, she was as wretched as ever.

The contrast between what she was and what she might have been was rather striking, certainly; and the bitterest pang of all was the thought she had no one to blame, from first to last, but herself.

Oh, if she had only been true! This was what came of marrying for love, and trampling under foot prudence, and honour, and truth. A month or two of joy, and life-long regret and repentance!

Doctor Danton, his wife, and sister, took a hurried scamper over London, and departed for Paris.

The weather in that gay capital was very warm, indeed, but delightful to Rose, who had never crossed the Channel before. Paris was comparatively familiar ground to the young Doctor; he took the two ladies sight-seeing perpetually; and Mrs. Stanford almost forgot her troubles in the delights of the brilliant French city.

A nurse had been engaged for baby, so that troublesome young gentleman no longer came between his mamma and life's enjoyment. Her diminished wardrobe had been replenished too; and, well-fed and well-dressed, Rose began to look almost like the sparkling, piquant Rose of other days.