"Never give up, Agnes," he said, cheerily. "Patience, patience yet a little longer. I shall return for my sister's wedding, and I think it will be all right then."
Agnes listened and sighed wearily. The ghost of Danton Hall had been very well behaved of late, and had frightened no one. The initiated knew that Mr. Richards was not very well, and that the night air was considered unhealthy, so he never left his rooms. The tamarack walk was undisturbed in the lonely April nights—at least by all save Doctor Frank, who sometimes chose to haunt the place, but who never saw anything for his pains.
May came—with it came Mr. Stanford, looking sunburned, and fresh, and handsomer than ever. As on the evening of his departure from the Hall, so on the eve of his departure from Ottawa, he had written to that confidential friend:
"Dear Lauderdale.—The month of probation has expired. To-morrow I return to Danton Hall. Whatever happens, I have done my best. If fate is arbitrary, am I to blame? Look for me in June, and be ready to pay your respects to Mrs. Stanford."
CHAPTER XV.
ONE OF EARTH'S ANGELS.
Mr. Stanford's visit to Ottawa had changed him somehow, it seemed to Kate. The eyes that love us are sharp; the heart that sets us up for its idol is quick to feel every variation. Reginald was changed—vaguely, almost indefinably, but certainly changed. He was more silent than of old, and had got a habit of falling into long brown studies in the midst of the most interesting conversation. He took almost as little interest in the bridal paraphernalia as Rose, and sauntered lazily about the grounds, or lay on the tender new grass under the trees smoking endless cigars, and looking dreamily up at the endless patches of bright blue sky, and thinking, thinking—of what?
Kate saw it, felt it, and was uneasy. Grace saw it, too; for Grace had her suspicions of that fascinating young officer, and watched him closely. They were not very good friends somehow, Grace and Kate Danton; a sort of armed neutrality existed between them, and had ever since Kate had heard of her father's approaching marriage. She had never liked Grace much—she liked her less than ever now. She was marrying her father from the basest and most mercenary motives, and Kate despised her, and was frigidly civil and polite whenever she met her. She took it very quietly, this calm Grace, as she took all things, and was respectful to Miss Danton, as became Miss Danton's father's housekeeper.
"Don't you think Mr. Stanford has altered somehow, Frank, since he went to Ottawa?" she said one day to her brother, as they sat alone together by the dining-room window.