"Oh, no."
"Agnes Darling turns out to be his wife. Quite a romance, isn't it? I will tell you all the particulars another time. Just now, I want you to put on your bonnet and come with me to my hotel. Don't ask me why—I won't tell you. We will fetch the baby too. Go, get ready."
Doctor Frank was imperative, and Rose yielded at once. It was so indescribably delightful, after all these weeks of suspense and despair, to see Frank Danton's friendly face, and to listen to his friendly voice, commanding as one who had the right. Rose had her hat and shawl on directly, and, with baby in her arms, followed him down stairs. A hansom stood waiting. He helped her in, gave the cabman his orders, took his place beside her, and they rattled off.
"When am I going home?" Rose asked, suddenly. "Have you come to fetch me?"
"Not precisely. You are to return with me, however."
"And when are we going?"
"That is not quite decided yet. It is an after-consideration, and there is no hurry. Are you particularly anxious to be back to Canada?"
"I am tired of being lonely and homeless," poor Rose replied, the tears starting. "I want to be at rest, and among the dear familiar faces. Doctor Frank," she said, looking at him appealingly, "have they forgiven me, do you think?"
"Whom do you mean by they, Mrs. Stanford?"
"Papa and—and Kate."