"No, dear," said Miss Howard, "I can't. I just came over for you; I am alone, and want you to spend the evening. Don't say no; Mr. Stanford will be home to dinner with George, and he will escort you back."
"You pet!" cried Rose, with another rapturous kiss. "Just wait five minutes while I run up and dress."
Miss Howard was not very long detained. Rose was back, all ready, in half an hour.
"Would your sister come?" inquired Miss Howard, doubtfully, for she was a good deal in awe of that tall majestic sister.
"Who? Kate? Oh, she is out riding with Sir Ronald Keith. Never mind her; we can have a better time by ourselves."
The tiny sleigh dashed off with its fair occupants, and Rose's depressed spirits went up to fever heat. It was the first of March, and March had come in like a lamb—balmy, sunshiny, brilliant. Everybody looked at them admiringly as the fairy sleigh and the two pretty girls flew through the village, and thought, perhaps, what a fine thing it was to be rich, and young, and handsome, and happy, like that.
Miss Howard's home was about half a mile off, and a few minutes brought them to it.
The two girls passed the afternoon agreeably enough at the piano and over new books, but both were longing for evening and the return of the gentlemen. Miss Howard was only sixteen, and couldn't help admiring Mr. Stanford, or wishing she were her brother George, and with him all day.
The March day darkened slowly down. The sun fell low and dropped out of sight behind the bright, frozen river, in a glory of crimson and purple. The hues of the sunset died, the evening star shone steel-blue and bright in the night-sky, and the two girls stood by the window watching when the gentlemen returned. There was just light enough left to see them plainly as they drew near the house, their skates slung over their arms; but Mr. George Howard came in for very little of their regards.
"Handsome fellow!" said Miss Howard, her eyes sparkling.