"I don't know. He may get leave of absence."
"I hope so—I hope so. Capital fellow is Reginald. Did you see him before you left England, Sir Ronald?"
"I met Lieutenant Stanford at a dinner party the week I left," said Sir Ronald, stiffly—so stiffly, that the subject was dropped at once.
After breakfast, Captain Danton retired to his study to answer his letters, and Sir Ronald and Kate started for their morning ride across the country. She had invited Rose to accompany them, and Rose had rather sulkily declined.
"I never admire spread-eagles," sneered the second Miss Danton, "and I don't care for being third in these cases—I might be de trop. Sir Ronald Keith's rather a stupid cavalier. I prefer staying at home, I thank you."
"As you please," Kate said, and went off to dress.
Rose got a novel, and sat down at the upper half window to mope and read. The morning was dark and overcast, the leaden sky threatened snow, and the wailing December wind was desolation itself. The house was very still; faint and far off the sound of Eeny's piano could be heard, and now and then a door somewhere opening and shutting. Ogden came from Mr. Richards' apartment, locked the door after him, put the key in his pocket, and went away. Rose dropped her book and sat gazing at that door—that Bluebeard's chamber—that living mystery in their common-place Canadian home. While she looked at it, some one came whistling up the stairs. It was her father, and he stopped at sight of her.
"You here, Rose, my dear; I thought you had gone out riding with Kate."
"Kate doesn't want me, papa," replied Rose, with a French shrug. "She has company she likes better."
"What, Sir Ronald! Nonsense, Rose! Kate is Sir Ronald's very good friend—nothing more."