ons. In fact, he was quite used to
them now, for Mrs. Myra, having tried a variety of dangerous diseases,
had finally decided upon heart complaint as the one most likely to keep
her friends in a chronic state of anxiety and was continually sending
word that she was dying. One gets used to palpitations as well as
everything else, so the doctor felt no alarm but always went and
prescribed some harmless remedy with the most amiable sobriety and
patience.

Rose was tired but not sleepy and wanted to think over several things,
so instead of going to bed she sat down before the open fire in the
study to wait for her uncle and perhaps Charlie, though she did not
expect him so late.

Aunt Myra's palpitations must have been unusually severe, for the clock
struck twelve before Dr. Alec came, and Rose was preparing to end her
reverie when the sound of someone fumbling at the hall door made her
jump up, saying to herself: "Poor man! His hands are so cold he can't
get his latchkey in. Is that you, Uncle?" she added, running to admit
him, for Jane was slow and the night as bitter as it was brilliant.

A voice answered, "Yes." And as the door swung open, in walked, not Dr.
Alec, but Charlie, who immediately took one of the hall chairs and sat
there with his hat on, rubbing his gloveless hands and blinking as if
the light dazzled him, as he said in a rapid, abrupt sort of tone, "I
told you I'd come left the fellows keeping it up gloriously going to see
the old year out, you know. But I promised never break my word and here
I am. Angel in blue, did you slay your thousands?"

"Hush! The waiters are still about. Come to the study fire and warm
yourself, you must be frozen," said Rose, going before to roll up the
easy chair.

"Not at all never warmer looks very comfortable, though. Where's
Uncle?" asked Charlie, following with his hat still on, his hands in his
pockets, and his eye fixed steadily on the bright head in front of him.

"Aunt Myra sent for him, and I was waiting up to see how she was,"
answered Rose, busily mending the fire.

Charlie laughed and sat down upon a corner of the library table. "Poor
old soul! What a pity she doesn't die before he is quite worn out.
A little too much ether some of these times would send her off quite
comfortably, you know."

"Don't speak in that way. Uncle says imaginary troubles are often as
hard to bear as real ones," said Rose, turning around displeased.

Till now she had not fairly l