ginald was by Rose's side in a dim, gloomy forest-path. Rose
had no objection. She walked beside him, looking very pretty, in a black
hat with long white plume and little white veil. They had walked on
without speaking until her foolish heart was fluttering, and she could
stand it no longer. She stopped short in the woodland aisle, through
which the pale March sunshine sifted, and looked up at him for the first
time.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"For a walk," replied Mr. Stanford, "and a talk. You are not afraid, I
hope?"

"Afraid?" said Rose, the colour flushing her face. "Of what should I be
afraid?"

"Of me!"

"And why should I be afraid of you?"

"Perhaps because I may make love to you? Are you?"

"No."

"Come on, then."

He offered his arm, and Rose put her gloved fingers gingerly in his
coat-sleeve, her heart fluttering more than ever.

"You are going to be married," he said, "and I have had no opportunity
of offering my congratulations. Permit me to do it now."

"Thank you."

"Your M. La Touche is a pleasant little fellow, Rose. You and he have my
best wishes for your future happiness."

"The 'pleasant little fellow' and myself are exceedingly obliged to
you!" her eyes flashing; "and now, Mr. Stanford, if you have said all
you have to say, suppose we go back?"

"But I have not said all I have to say, nor half. I want to know why you
are going to marry him?"

"And I want to know," retorted Rose, "what business it is of yours?"

"Be civil Rose! I told you once before, if you recollect, that I was
very fond of you. Being fond of you, it is natural I should take an
interest in your welfare. What are you going to marry him for?"

"For love!" said Rose, spitefully.

"I don't believe it! Excuse me for contradicting you, my dear Rose; but
I don't believe it. He is a good-looking lamb-like little fellow, and he
is worth forty thousand pounds; but I don't believe it!"

"Don't believe it, then. What you believe, or what you disbelieve, is a
matter of perfect indifference to me," said Rose, looking straight
before her with compressed lips.

"I don't believe that, either. What is the use of saying such things to
me?"

"Mr. Stanford, do you mean to insult me?" demanded Rose furiously. "Let
me go this instant. Fetch me back to the rest. Oh, if papa were here,
you wouldn't dare to talk to me like that. Reginald Stanford, let me go.
I hate you!"

For Mr. Stanford had put his arm around her wai