"You must have found it very lonely," said Doctor Danton.
"No. I regretted not getting here, of course; but otherwise it was not unpleasant. They took such capital care of me, you see, and I had a select little library at my command; so, on the whole, I have been in much more disagreeable quarters in my lifetime."
Doctor Frank said no more. He had gained his point, and he was satisfied.
"It is quite clear," he thought. "By some hocus-pocus, Miss Rose has made his acquaintance during those three weeks, and helped the slow time to pass. He did not tell her he was her sister's lover, hence the present frigidity. The long morning rides are accounted for now. I wonder"—he looked at pretty Rose—"I wonder if the matter will end here?"
It seemed as if it would. Doctor Danton, coming every day to the Hall, and closely observant always, saw no symptoms of thawing out on Rose's part, and no effort to please on the side of Mr. Stanford. He treated her as he treated Eeny and Grace, courteously, genially, but nothing more. He was all devotion to his beautiful betrothed, and Kate—what words can paint the infinite happiness of her face! All that was wanting to make her beauty perfect was found. She had grown so gentle, so sweet, so patient with all; she was so supremely blessed herself, she could afford to stoop to the weaknesses of less fortunate mortals. That indescribable change, the radiance of her eyes, the buoyancy of her step, the lovely colour that deepened and died, the smiles that came so rapidly now—all told how much she loved Reginald Stanford.
Was it returned, that absorbing devotion? He was very devoted; he was beside her when she sang; he sought her always when he entered the room, he was her escort on all occasions; but—was it returned? It seemed to Doctor Frank, watching quietly, that there was something wanting—something too vague to be described, but lacking. Kate did not miss it herself, and it might be only a fancy. Perhaps it was that she was above and beyond him, with thoughts and feelings in that earnest heart of hers he could never understand. He was very handsome, very brilliant; but underlying the beauty and the brilliancy of the surface there was shallowness, and selfishness, and falsity.
He was walking up and down the tamarack walk, thinking of this and smoking a cigar, one evening, about a week after the arrival of Stanford. The February twilight fell tenderly over snowy ground, dark, stripped trees, and grim old mansion. A mild evening, windless and spring-like, with the full moon rising round and red. His walk commanded a view of the great frozen fish-pond where a lively scene was going on. Kate, Rose, and Eeny, strapped in skates, were floating round and round, attended by the Captain and Lieutenant Stanford.
Rose was the best skater on the pond, and looked charming in her tucked-up dress, crimson petticoat, dainty boots, and coquettish hat and plume. She flitted in a dizzying circle ahead of all the rest, disdaining to join them. Stanford skated very well for an Englishman, and assisted Kate, who was not very proficient in the art. Captain Danton had Eeny by the hand, and the gay laughter of the party made the still air ring. Grace stood on the edge of the pond watching them, and resisting the Captain's entreaties to come on the ice and let him teach her to skate. Her brother joined her, coming up suddenly, with Tiger at his side.
"Not half a bad tableau," the Doctor said, removing his inevitable cigar; "lovely women, brave men, moonlight, and balmy breezes. You don't go in for this sort of thing, ma soeur? No, I suppose not. Our good-looking Englishman skates well, by the way. What do you think of him, Grace?"
"I think with you, that he is a good-looking young Englishman."