ht flush--a
surreptitious glance at Catherine who sat absorbed in a wandering letter
from Mrs. Darcy. Then the girl carried her prize to the window and
opened it.

Catherine read on, gathering up the Murewell names and details as some
famished gleaner might gather up the scattered ears on a plundered
field. At last something in the silence of the room, and of the other
inmate in it, struck her.

'Rose,' she said, looking up, 'was that some one brought you a note?'

The girl turned with a start--a letter fell to the ground. She made a
faint ineffectual effort to pick it up, and sank into a chair.

'Rose--darling!' cried Catherine, springing up, 'are you ill?'

Rose looked at her with a perfectly colourless fixed face, made a feeble
negative sign, and then laying her arms on the breakfast-table in front
of her, let her head fall upon them.

Catherine stood over her aghast. 'My darling--what is it? Come and lie
down--take this water.'

She put some close to her sister's hand, but Rose pushed it away. 'Don't
talk to me,' she said with difficulty.

Catherine knelt beside her in helpless pain and perplexity, her cheek
resting against her sister's shoulder as a mute sign of sympathy. What
could be the matter? Presently her gaze travelled from Rose to the
letter on the floor. It lay with the address uppermost, and she at once
recognised Langham's handwriting. But before she could combine any
rational ideas with this quick perception, Rose had partially mastered
herself. She raised her head slowly and grasped her sister's arm.

'I was startled,' she said, a forced smile on her white lips. 'Last
night Mr. Langham asked me to marry him--I expected him here this
morning to consult with mamma and you. That letter is to inform me
that--he made a mistake--and he is very sorry! So am I! It is
so--so--bewildering!'

She got up restlessly and went to the fire as though shivering with
cold. Catherine thought she hardly knew what she was saying. The elder
sister followed her, and throwing an arm round her, pressed the slim
irresponsive figure close. Her eyes were bright with anger, her lips
quivering.

'That he should _dare_!' she cried. 'Rose--my poor little Rose.'

'Don't blame him!' said Rose, crouching down before the fire, while
Catherine fell into the armchair again. 'It doesn't seem to count, from
you--you have always been so ready to blame him!'

Her brow contracted; she looked frowning into the fire, her still
col