"What are you doing there?" questioned Hurst, after a long silence.
"It is a sketch of the lake which I am trying to finish up at once, in case pretty Ruth Jessup takes us by surprise."
There was something in the girl's voice, as she said this, that made Hurst rise slowly to his elbow.
"Takes us by surprise! What do you mean, Rose?"
"Oh, haven't you heard? I forget. Webb was told not to disturb you with gossip; but Ruth's little flirtation with young Storms has been progressing famously since you were hurt, and I am thinking of this for a wedding gift."
"For a wedding gift! Ruth Jessup—young Storms. What romance is this?"
The young man spoke sharply, sitting upright, his face whiter than illness had left it, and his eyes shining with more than feverish lustre.
"I do not know that it is a romance," answered Lady Rose. "At any rate, I hope not. Ruth is a good, sweet girl, and would never encourage a man to the extent she does, if a marriage were not understood; besides, old Storms was here only a day or two ago wanting more land included in his new lease, because his son thought of setting up for himself."
"Setting up for himself! The hound!" exclaimed Hurst, between his teeth. "And Sir Noel. I dare say he gave the land. He has always been exceptionally eager to portion off pretty Ruth. Of course, old Storms got the lease."
"I do not know," answered Lady Rose.