by all save Doctor
Frank, who sometimes chose to haunt the place, but who never saw
anything for his pains.

May came--with it came Mr. Stanford, looking sunburned, and fresh, and
handsomer than ever. As on the evening of his departure from the Hall,
so on the eve of his departure from Ottawa, he had written to that
confidential friend:

"Dear Lauderdale.--The month of probation has expired. To-morrow
I return to Danton Hall. Whatever happens, I have done my best.
If fate is arbitrary, am I to blame? Look for me in June, and
be ready to pay your respects to Mrs. Stanford."

CHAPTER XV.

ONE OF EARTH'S ANGELS.

Mr. Stanford's visit to Ottawa had changed him somehow, it seemed to
Kate. The eyes that love us are sharp; the heart that sets us up for its
idol is quick to feel every variation. Reginald was changed--vaguely,
almost indefinably, but certainly changed. He was more silent than of
old, and had got a habit of falling into long brown studies in the midst
of the most interesting conversation. He took almost as little interest
in the bridal paraphernalia as Rose, and sauntered lazily about the
grounds, or lay on the tender new grass under the trees smoking endless
cigars, and looking dreamily up at the endless patches of bright blue
sky, and thinking, thinking--of what?

Kate saw it, felt it, and was uneasy. Grace saw it, too; for Grace had
her suspicions of that fascinating young officer, and watched him
closely. They were not very good friends somehow, Grace and Kate Danton;
a sort of armed neutrality existed between them, and had ever since Kate
had heard of her father's approaching marriage. She had never liked
Grace much--she liked her less than ever now. She was marrying her
father from the basest and most mercenary motives, and Kate despised
her, and was frigidly civil and polite whenever she met her. She took it
very quietly, this calm Grace, as she took all things, and was
respectful to Miss Danton, as became Miss Danton's father's housekeeper.

"Don't you think Mr. Stanford has altered somehow, Frank, since he went
to Ottawa?" she said one day to her brother, as they sat alone together
by the dining-room window.

Doctor Danton looked out. Mr. Stanford was sauntering down the avenue, a
fishing-rod over his shoulder, and his bride-elect on his arm.

"Altered! How?"

"I don't know how," said Grace, "but he has altered. There is something
changed about him; I don't know w