"You forget," he began, in answer more to her evident excitement than to her words, "that--putting aside any objection I may experience--my presence here may not be acceptable to the family."
"You will not see the family. They are not visible today."
"Who are all these people going up the stairs?" he said, looking on in amazement, as more groups were silently bowed in by Silva. "It seems like a reception."
"It is one," said Rose: "nevertheless the family do not hold it. There comes Madame de Nino! She is directing those strict eyes of hers towards us, and I shall catch a sharp lecture for standing whispering with you. Do come, Mr. St. John."
"I cannot understand this, Rose. These visitors, flocking to the house, while, you say, the family are not visible! Why do they come, then? Why do you wish me to go up?"
"There's--there's--a show upstairs today," stammered Rose "That is why they come. And I want you to see it."
"A flower-show?" said Mr. St. John, somewhat mockingly.
"A faded one," murmured Rose, as she took his hand, and drew him towards the staircase.
His manner was hesitating, his step reluctant; and but for the young lady's pertinacity, which he could not resist without downright rudeness, he had certainly retreated. Involuntarily, he could not tell why or wherefore, the remembrance of a past scene came rushing to his mind; when he, Frederick St. John, had in like manner forced a resisting spirit up the stairs and into the room of a college-boy who was dying.
At the head of the stairs they met Mary Carr, who held out a small sealed packet.