me
in, graceful and elegant in her white cashmere morning robe, with cord
and tassels of violet, and a knot of violet ribbon at the rounded
throat. "I have not kept you waiting, have I?"

She kissed her father and sister, smiled and bowed to Grace and took her
place to preside. Very prettily and deftly the white hands fluttered
among the fragile china cups and saucers, and wielded the carved and
massive silver coffee-pot.

Grace thought she looked lovelier in the morning sunshine than in the
garish lamplight, with that flush on her cheeks, and the beautiful
golden hair twisted in shining coils.

Grace was very silent during breakfast, listening to the rest. The
Captain and his eldest daughter were both excellent talkers, and never
let conversation flag. Miss Danton rarely addressed her, but the
Captain's cordiality made amends for that.

"I must see that brother of yours to-day, Grace," he said, "and get him
to come up here. The Cure, too, is a capital fellow--I beg his pardon--I
must bring them both up to dinner. Are the Ponsonbys, and the Landry's,
and the Le Favres in the old places yet?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll call on them, then--they don't know I'm here--and see if a little
company won't enliven our long Canadian winter. You three, Grace, Rose
and Eeny, have been living here like nonettes long enough. We must try
and alter things a little for you."

The Captain's good-natured efforts to draw his taciturn housekeeper out
did not succeed very well. She had that unsocial failing of reserved
natures, silence habitually; and her reserve was always at its worst in
the presence of the Captain's brilliant daughter. That youthful beauty
fixed her blue eyes now and then on the dark, downcast face with an odd
look--very like a look of aversion.

"What kind of person is this Miss Grace of yours, Eeny?" she asked her
sister, after breakfast. "Very stupid, isn't she?"

"Stupid! Oh, dear, no! Grace is the dearest, best girl in the world,
except you, Kate. I don't know how we should ever get on without her."

"I didn't know," said Kate, rather coldly; "she is so silent and
impenetrable. Come! You promised to show me through the house."

They were alone in the dining-room. She walked over to the fire, and
stood looking thoughtfully up at the two portraits hanging over the
mantel--Captain Danton at twenty-seven, and his wife at twenty-four.

"Poor mamma!" Kate said, with a rare tenderness in her voice. "How
pretty she wa