Rose was sulky. She had been in a furious state of envy during Mary's visit, because she was not invited herself.
"Of all the human race, Rose, playing out their course upon this variable world of ours, who do you suppose is located just now within a stone's throw of the Château de Beaufoy?"
"I dare say it's nobody I know," said Rose, cross still.
"You know and admire him. A young and handsome man. He gathered these flowers for you--see how rare they are!--and he sent them with his love."
She looked up sharply; and her mind reverted to one who, perhaps, was seldom absent from it. But another moment sufficed to show how idle was the thought; and the current of ideas led her to another.
"Not Lord John Seymour?"
"No; what should bring him there? Frederick St. John."
"He! You are joking, Mary Carr."
"I am not. He is staying quite close to them. We saw a great deal of him. And--Rose!--he is taking Adeline's portrait!"
"Allez toujours," exclaimed Rose, using a familiar French expression. "I told you once before, Mary Carr, that that man, my pseudo-cousin, would exercise some extraordinary influence over Adeline de Castella's future life; and I now tell it you again."