"Very likely," said Kate, with an air of reserve, "but Mr. Richards does not require medical care."
"Oh, he is not very bad, then? You should bring him down stairs in that case; a little lively society—mine, for instance—might do him good."
Kate's dark eyes flashed impatiently.
"Rose," she said, sharply, "how often must I tell you Mr. Richards is hypochondriacal and will not quit his room? Cease to talk on the subject. Mr. Richards will not come down-stairs."
She swept past—majestic and a little displeased. Rose shrugged her plump shoulders and ran down stairs, for Doctor Danton was coming up the avenue, and Rose, of late, had divided her attention pretty equally between playing detective amateur and flirting with Doctor Danton. But there was a visitor for Rose in the drawing-room; and the young Doctor, entering the dining-room, found his sister alone, looking dreamily out at the starry twilight.
"Grace," he said, "I come to say good-bye; I am going to Montreal."
Grace looked round at him with a sudden air of relief.
"Oh, Frank! I am glad. When are you going?"
Doctor Frank stared at her an instant in silence, and then hooked a footstool towards him with his cane.
"Well, upon my word, for a sister who has not seen me for six years, that is affectionate. You're glad I'm going, are you?"