"Not a word."
"Will you write to Rose?"
"I shall not have time. I wish you would write, Eeny. That is what I came here to ask you to do."
"Certainly, with pleasure," said Eeny. "Rose will wait for no second invitation when she hears who have come. Will they arrive this evening?"
"Probably. They may come at any moment. And here I am lingering. Write the note at once, Eeny, and send Sam back to the village with it."
She left the parlour and went down stairs, looking into the dining-room as she passed. Babette was setting the table already, and silver and cut-glass sparkled in the light of the ruby flame. Grace went on, up another staircase, hurrying from room to room, seeing that all things were in perfect order. Fires burned in each apartment, lamps stood on the tables ready to be lit, for neither furnace nor gas was to be found here. The west suite of rooms spoken of in the letter were the last visited. A long corridor, lit by an oriel window, through which the rainy twilight stole eerily enough, led to a baize door. The baize door opened into a shorter corridor, terminated by a second door, the upper half of glass. This was the door of a study, simply furnished, the walls lined with book-shelves, surmounted by busts. Adjoining was a bathroom, adjoining that a bedroom. Fires burned in all, and the curtained windows commanded a wide western prospect of flower-garden, waving trees, spreading fields, and the great St. Lawrence melting into the low western sky.
"Mr. Richards ought to be very comfortable here," thought Grace. "It is rather strange Ogden did not speak of him."
She went down stairs again and back to the dining-room. Eeny was there, standing before the fire, her light shape and delicate face looking fragile in the red fire-light.
"Oh, Grace," said she, "I have just sent Babette in search of you. There is a visitor in the parlour for you."
"For me?"