all the rooms that had been so sumptuously
fitted up, when "Mrs. Torrance" came to Oakley, a bride, was the back
drawing-room. At least it was pleasantest in Winter. Its large windows
faced south and west, and all of the Winter sunshine fell upon them,
glowing through crimson curtains, and helping the piled-up anthracite
in the grate to bathe the room in a ruddiness of crimson and golden
bronze.

On this particular December day, the air was crisp and cold, and full
of floating particles of hoar frost, while the winter sun shone bright
and clear. Outside, one felt that it was an exceedingly cold sun. But
viewed from within, it looked inviting enough, and one felt inspired
to dash out into the frosty air and try if they could not walk _a la_
hippogriffe, without touching their feet to the ground.

Some such thought was floating through the mind of Mrs. John Arthur,
who was progressing in her convalescence very rapidly now, and who
had, on this day, made her second descent to the drawing-rooms.

She had donned, for the first time since her illness, a dinner-dress
of rosy silk, its sweeping train and elbow sleeves enriched with
flounces of black lace. As there was, at present, no need to play the
invalid--herself and Davlin being the sole occupants of the room--she
was sweeping up and down its length like a caged lioness.

By and by she swerved from her course, and coming to the grate, put a
daintily shod foot upon the bronze fender. Resting one hand on a
chair, and looking down upon Davlin, who was lounging before the fire
in full dinner costume, she said, abruptly:

"How very interesting all this is!"

Davlin made no sign that he heard.

"Do you know how long we have been playing this little game, sir?"

The man smiled, in that cool way, so exasperating always to her, and
lifting one hand, began to tell off the months on his fingers.

"Let me see, ball opened in June, did it not?"

She nodded impatiently.

"June!" He was thinking of his June flirting with Madeline Payne, and
involuntarily glanced at the windows from whence could be seen the very
trees under which they had wandered, himself and that fair dead girl, in
early June. "Yes, the last of June--I remember,"--reflectively.

"And pray, from what event does your memory date?" exclaimed Cora,
with strong sarcasm.

He glanced up quickly. "Why, _Ma Belle_, from your introduction to the
hills and vales of Bellair, and the master of Oakley."

"Oh, I thoug