Rose came down to breakfast next morning quite well again. The morning's post had brought her a letter from Quebec, and she read it as she sipped her coffee.
"Is it from Virginie Leblanc?" asked Eeny. "She is your only correspondent in Quebec."
Rose nodded and went on reading.
"What does she want?" Eeny persisted.
"She wants me to pay her a visit," said Rose, folding up her letter.
"And of course you won't go?"
"No—yes—I don't know."
She spoke absently, crumbling the roll on her plate, and not eating. She lingered in the room after breakfast, when all the rest had left it, looking out of the window. She was still there when, half an hour later, Grace came in to sew; but not alone. Mr. Stanford was standing beside her, and Grace caught his last low words:
"It is the most fortunate thing that could have happened. Don't lose any time."
He saw Grace and stopped, spoke to her, and sauntered out of the room. Rose did not turn from the window for fully ten minutes. When she did, it was to ask where her father was.