Rose fixed her eyes sullenly on her book.
"You will come to England with us, won't you, Rose—dear old England—and my pretty sister may be my lady yet?"
The door opened again. Mr. Stanford came in.
Rose glanced up shyly.
His face was unusually grave and pale; but all were taking their places, and in the bustle no one noticed it. He did not look at Kate, who saw, with love's quickness, that something was wrong.
All through breakfast Mr. Stanford was very silent, for him. When he did talk, it was to Captain Danton—seldom to any of the ladies.
Grace watched him, wonderingly; Rose watched him furtively, and Kate's morning appetite was effectually taken away.
The meal ended, the family dispersed.
The Captain went to his study, Sir Ronald mounted and rode off, Grace went away to attend to her housekeeping affairs, Eeny to her studies, and Rose hurried up to her room.
The lovers were left alone. Kate took her embroidery. Mr. Stanford was immersed in the paper Captain Danton had lately laid down. There was a prolonged silence, during which the lady worked, and the gentleman read, as if their lives depended on it.