ith dark
Canadian eyes and hair, and olive skin. He was rather small and slight,
and his large dark eyes were dreamy, and his smile as gentle as a
girl's.

Mr. Stanford, resigned his place on the sofa to M. La Touche, and Rose
and the young Canadian were soon chattering busily in French.

"Why did you not write and tell me you were coming?"

"Because I did not know I was coming. Rose, I am the luckiest fellow
alive!"

His dark eyes sparkled; his olive face flushed. Rose looked at him
wonderingly.

"How?"

"I have had a fortune left me. I am a rich man, and I have come here to
tell you, my darling Rose."

"A fortune!" repeated Rose, opening her brown eyes.

"Yes, _m'amour_! You have heard me speak of my uncle in Laprairie, who
is very rich? Well, he is dead, and has left all he possesses to me."

Rose clasped her hands.

"And how much is it?"

"Forty thousand pounds!"

"Forty thousand pounds!" repeated Rose, quite stunned by the magnitude
of the sum.

"Am I not the luckiest fellow in the world?" demanded the young legatee
with exultation. "I don't care for myself alone, Rose, but for you.
There is nothing to prevent our marriage now."

Rose wilted down suddenly, and began fixing her bracelets.

"I shall take a share in the bank with my father," pursued the young
man; "and I shall speak to your father to-morrow for his consent to our
union!"

Rose still twitched her bracelets, her colour coming and going. She
could see Reginald Stanford without looking up; and never had he been so
handsome in her eyes; never had she loved him as she loved him now.

"You say nothing, Rose," said her lover. "_Mon Dieu!_ you cannot surely
love me less!"

"Hush!" said Rose, rather sharply, "they will hear you. It isn't that,
but--but I don't want to be married just yet. I am too young."

"You did not think so at Ottawa."

"Well," said Rose, testily; "I think so now, and that is enough. I can't
get married yet; at least not before July."

"I am satisfied to wait until July," said La Touche, smiling. "No doubt,
you will feel older and wiser by that time."

"Does your father know?" asked Rose.

"Yes, I told him before I left home. They are all delighted. My mother
and sisters send endless love."

Rose remained silent for a moment, thoughtfully twisting her bracelet.
She liked wealth, but she liked Reginald Stanford better than all the
wealth in the world. Jules La Touche, with forty thousand pounds, was
not to b