"Nothing; but why, then, does she dislike you so?"
"Am I so unfortunate as to have incurred your pretty sister's dislike?"
"Don't you see it? She avoids you. She will not talk to you, or sing for you, or take your arm, or join us when we go out. I never saw her treat any gentleman with such pointed coldness before."
"Extraordinary," said Mr. Stanford, with profoundest gravity; "I am the most unlucky fellow in the world. What shall I do to overcome your fair sister's aversion?"
"Perhaps you do not pay her attention enough. Rose knows she is very pretty, and is jealously exacting in her demands for admiration and devotion. Sir Ronald gave her mortal offence the first evening he came, by his insensibility. She has never forgiven him, and never will. Devote yourself more to her and less to me, and perhaps Rose will consent to let you bask in the light of her smile."
He looked at her with an odd glance. She was smiling, but in earnest too. She loved her sister and her lover so well, that she felt uncomfortable until they were friends; and her heart was too great and faithful for the faintest spark of jealousy. He had lifted the hand that wore his ring to his lips.
"Your wishes are my law. I shall do my best to please Rose from to-night."
That evening, for the first time, Stanford took a seat beside Rose, and did his best to be agreeable. Kate smiled approval from her place at the piano, and Doctor Danton, on the other side of Rose, heard and saw all, and did not quite understand. But Rose was still offended, and declined to relent. It was hard to resist that persuasive voice, but she did. She hardened herself resolutely at the thought of how he had deceived her—he who was soon to be her sister's husband. Rose got up abruptly, excused herself, and left the room.
When the family were dispersing to their chambers that night, Reginald lingered to speak to Kate.
"I have failed, you see," he said.