st, and was looking down
at her with those darkly daring eyes. What could Rose do?--silly,
love-sick Rose. She didn't hate him, and she broke out into a perfect
passion of sobs.

"Sit down, Rose," he said, very gently, leading her to a mossy knoll
under a tree; "and, my darling, don't cry. You will redden your eyes,
and swell your nose, and won't look pretty. Don't cry any more!"

If Mr. Stanford had been trying for a week, he could have used no more
convincing argument.

Rose wiped her eyes gracefully; but wouldn't look at him.

"That's a good girl!" said Stanford. "I will agree to everything rather
than offend you. You love M. La Touche, and you hate me. Will that do?"

"Let us go back," said Rose, stiffly, getting up. "I don't see what you
mean by such talk. I know it is wrong and insulting."

"Do you feel insulted?" he asked, smiling down at her.

"Let me alone!" cried Rose, the passionate tears starting to her eyes
again. "Let me alone, I tell you! You have no business to torment me
like this!"

He caught her suddenly in his arms, and kissed her again and again.

"Rose! Rose! my darling! you love me, don't you? My dear little Rose, I
can't let you marry Jules La Touche, or any one else."

He released her just in time.

"Rose! Rose!" Kate's clear voice was calling somewhere near.

"Here we are," returned Stanford, in answer, for Rose was speechless;
and two minutes later they were face to face with Miss Danton and M. La
Touche.

Mr. Stanford's face was clear as the blue March sky, but Rose looked as
flushed and guilty as she felt. She shrank from looking at her sister or
lover, and clung involuntarily to Reginald's arm.

"Have you been plotting to murder any one?" asked Kate. "You look like
it."

"We have been flirting," said Mr. Stanford, with the most perfect
composure. "You don't mind, do you? M. La Touche, I resign in your
favour. Come, Kate."

Rose and Reginald did not exchange another word all day. Rose was very
subdued, very still. She hardly opened her lips all the afternoon to the
unlucky Jules. She hardly opened them at dinner, except to admit the
edibles, and she was unnaturally quiet all the evening. She retired into
a corner with some crochet-work, and declined conversation and coffee
alike, until bedtime. She went slowly and decorously upstairs, with that
indescribable subdued face, and bade everybody good-night without
looking at them.

Eeny, who shared Grace's room, sat on a sto