ven against her better judgment.

"Is not Mr. Fabian friendly toward you?" inquired Cora, from mixed
motives--of half pity, half irony.

"Fabian?" sweetly replied Rose. "No, dear. I lost the friendship of Mr.
Fabian Rockharrt when I declined his offer of marriage. You refuse a
man, and so wound his vanity; and though you may never have given him
the least encouragement to propose to you, and though he has not the
shadow of a reason to believe that you will accept yet will he take
great offense, and perhaps become your mortal enemy," sighed Rose.

"But I think Uncle Fabian is too good natured for that sort of malice."

"I don't know, dear. I have never seen him since he left me in anger on
the day I begged off from marrying him. Really, darling, it was more
like begging off than refusing."

But little more was said on the subject, and presently afterward the two
went up stairs to dress for dinner.

Punctually at six o'clock Mr. Rockharrt returned. And the evening passed
as on the preceding day, with this addition to its attractions: Mrs.
Stillwater went to the piano and played and sang many of Mr. Rockharrt's
favorite songs--the old fashioned songs of his youth--Tom Moore's Irish
melodies, Robert Burns' Scotch ballads, and a miscellaneous assortment
of English ditties--all of which were before Rose's time, but which she
had learned from old Mrs. Rockharrt's ancient music books during her
first residence at Rockhold, that she might please the Iron King by
singing them.

Surely the siren left nothing untried to please her patron and
benefactor.

When he complained of fatigue and bade the two women good night, she
started and lighted his wax candle and gave it to him. The next day she
was on hand to help him on with his great coat, and to hand him his
gloves and hat, and he thanked her with a smile.

So went on life at Rockhold all the week.

On Saturday evening Mr. Clarence came home with his father and greeted
Rose Stillwater with the kindly courtesy that was habitual with him.

There were four at the dinner table. And Rose, having so excellent a
coadjutor in the younger Rockharrt, was even gayer and more chatty than
ever, making the meal a lively and cheerful one even for moody Aaron
Rockharrt and sorrowful Cora Rothsay.

After dinner, when the party had gone into the drawing room, Mrs.
Stillwater said:

"Here are just four of us. Just enough for a game at whist. Shall we
have a rubber, Mr. Rockharrt?"