"Kate is in one of her high and mighty moods," she thought. "I don't pretend to understand her. If she is engaged in England, what difference can it make to her whether I flirt with this Scotch baronet or not? What do I care for her airs? I'll flirt if I please."
She sat still, twisting her glossy ringlets round her fingers, while Kate played on with that unsmiling face. Half an hour, and the dinner-bell rang. Ten minutes after, Captain Danton and his guest stood before them.
For a moment Rose did not see him; her father's large proportions, as he took her in his arms and kissed her, overshadowed every one else.
"How my little Rose has grown!" the Captain said looking at her fondly; "as plump as a partridge and as Rosy as her name. Sir Ronald—my daughter Rose."
Rose bowed with finished grace, thinking, with a profound sense of disappointment:
"What an ugly little man!"
Then it was Eeny's turn, and presently they were all seated at the table—the baronet at Kate's right hand, talking to her of Old England, and of by-gone days, and of people the rest knew nothing about. Captain Danton gallantly devoted himself to the other three, and told them he had brought them all presents from Montreal.
"Oh, papa, have you though!" cried Rose. "I dearly love presents; what have you brought me?"
"Wait until after dinner, little curiosity," said her father. "Grace, whom do you think I met in Montreal?"
"I don't know, sir."