"Then I may speak to your father?"
"Wait until to-morrow," said Rose. "I will think of it. You shall have my answer after breakfast. Now, don't wear that long face—there is really no occasion."
Rose dutifully lingered by his side all the evening; but she stole more glances at Kate's lover than she did at her own. Jules La Touche felt the impalpable change in her; and yet it would have puzzled him to define it. His nature was gentle and tender, and he loved the pretty, fickle, rosy beauty with a depth and sincerity of which she was totally unworthy.
Upstairs, in her room, that night, Rose sat before the fire, toasting her feet and thinking. Yes, thinking. She was not guilty of it often; but to-night she was revolving the pros and cons of her own case. If she refused to let Jules speak to her father, nothing would persuade him that her love had not died out. He might depart in anger, and she might lose him forever. That was the very last thing she wished. If she lost Reginald, it would be some consolation to marry, immediately after, a richer man. It would be revenge; it would prove how little she cared for him; it would deprive him of the pleasure of thinking she was pining in maiden loneliness for him. Then, too, the public announcement of her engagement and approaching marriage to M. La Touche might arouse him to the knowledge of how much he loved her. "How blessings brighten as they take their flight!" and jealousy is infallible to bring dilatory lovers to the point. No question of the right or wrong of the matter troubled the second Miss Danton's easy conscience.
On the whole, everything was in favour of M. La Touche's speaking to papa. Rose resolved he should speak, took off her considering cap, and went to bed.
M. La Touche was not kept long in suspense next day; he got his answer before breakfast. The morning was sunny and mild, but the snow lay piled high on all sides; and Rose, running down stairs some ten minutes before breakfast-time, found her lover in the open hall door, watching the snowbirds and smoking a cigar. Rose went up to him with very pretty shyness, and the young man flung away his cigar, and looked at her anxiously.
"What a lovely morning," said Rose; "what splendid sleighing we will have."
"I'm not going to talk of sleighing," said M. La Touche, resolutely. "You promised me an answer this morning. What is it?"
Rose began playing with her cord and tassels.
"What is it?" reiterated the Canadian. "Yes or No?"