He kissed her again and held the door open for her to pass out. Rose, with a great weight off her mind went down the passage, and met Eeny running upstairs.
"I say, Rose," exclaimed her sister, "don't you want to go to a ball? Well, there are invitations for the Misses Danton in the parlour."
"A ball, Eeny? Where?"
"At the Ponsonbys', next Thursday night. Sir Ronald, Doctor Frank, papa, and Mr. Stanford are all invited."
Rose's delight at the news banished all memory of the unpleasant scene just over. A ball was the summit of Rose's earthly bliss, and a ball at the Ponsonbys' really meant something. In ten minutes her every thought was absorbed in the great question, "What shall I wear?"
"To-day is Wednesday," thought Rose. "Thursday one, Friday two, Saturday three, Monday four, Tuesday five, Wednesday six, Thursday seven. Plenty of time to have my new silk made. I'll go and speak to Agnes at once."
She tripped away to the sewing-room in search of the little seamstress. The door was ajar; she pushed it open, but paused in astonishment at the sight which met her eyes.
The sewing-room was on the ground floor, its one window about five feet from the ground. At this window which was open, sat the seamstress, her work lying idly on her lap, twisting her fingers in a restless, nervous sort of way peculiar to her. Leaning against the window from without, his arm on the sill, stood Doctor Danton, talking as if he had known Agnes Darling all his life.
The noise of Rose's entrance, slight as it was, caught his quick ear. He looked up and met her surprised eyes, coolly composedly.
"Don't let me intrude!" said Rose, entering, when she found herself discovered. "I did not expect to see Doctor Danton here."