"I should think so. People like to make mysteries in this house, in my opinion. Where there is secrecy there is something wrong. This morning was not the first time you ever talked to Agnes Darling."
"Perhaps not," replied Doctor Danton, with a very grave face; "but, poor child! what right have I to make known the trials she has undergone? She has been very unfortunate, and I once had the opportunity to befriend her. That is all I know of her, or am at liberty to tell."
There was that in Doctor Frank's face that, despite Rose's assurance, forbade her asking any more questions.
"But I shall never rest till I find out," thought the young lady. "I've got at Mr. Richards' and I'll get at yours as sure as my name is Rose."
The intervening days before the ball, Rose was too much absorbed in her preparations, and anticipations of conquest, to give her mind much to Agnes Darling and her secrets. That great and hidden trouble of her life—her unfortunate love affair, was worrying her too. Mr. Stanford, in pursuance of his promise to Kate, played the agreeable to her sister with a provoking perseverance that was proof against any amount of snubbing, and that nearly drove Rose wild. He would take a seat by her side, always in Kate's presence, and talk to her by the hour, while she could but listen, and rebel inwardly. Never, even while she chafed most, had she loved him better. That power of fascination, that charm of face, of voice, of smile, that had conquered her fickle heart the first time she saw him, enthralled her more and more hopelessly with every passing day. It was very hard to sit there, sullen and silent, and keep her eyes averted, but the Danton pluck stood her in good stead, and the memory of his treachery to her goaded her on.
"It's of no use, Kate," he said to his lady-love; "our pretty Rose will have nothing to say to me. I more than half believe she is in love with that very clever Doctor Frank."
"Dr. Frank? Oh, no; he is not half handsome enough for Rose."
"He is a thoroughly fine fellow, though. Are you quite sure he has not taken Rose captive?"
"Quite. He is very well to flirt with—nothing more. Rose cares nothing for him, but I am not so sure he does not care for her. Rose is very pretty."
"Very," smiled Mr. Stanford, "and knows it. I wonder if she will dance with me the night of the ball?"