iding with Sir Ronald Keith. Never mind her;
we can have a better time by ourselves."

The tiny sleigh dashed off with its fair occupants, and Rose's depressed
spirits went up to fever heat. It was the first of March, and March had
come in like a lamb--balmy, sunshiny, brilliant. Everybody looked at
them admiringly as the fairy sleigh and the two pretty girls flew
through the village, and thought, perhaps, what a fine thing it was to
be rich, and young, and handsome, and happy, like that.

Miss Howard's home was about half a mile off, and a few minutes brought
them to it.

The two girls passed the afternoon agreeably enough at the piano and
over new books, but both were longing for evening and the return of the
gentlemen. Miss Howard was only sixteen, and couldn't help admiring Mr.
Stanford, or wishing she were her brother George, and with him all day.

The March day darkened slowly down. The sun fell low and dropped out of
sight behind the bright, frozen river, in a glory of crimson and purple.
The hues of the sunset died, the evening star shone steel-blue and
bright in the night-sky, and the two girls stood by the window watching
when the gentlemen returned. There was just light enough left to see
them plainly as they drew near the house, their skates slung over their
arms; but Mr. George Howard came in for very little of their regards.

"Handsome fellow!" said Miss Howard, her eyes sparkling.

"Who?" said Rose, carelessly, as if her heart was not beating time to
the word. "Reginald?"

"Yes; he is the handsomest man I ever saw."

Rose laughed--a rather forced laugh, though.

"Don't fall in love with my handsome brother-in-law, Em. Kate won't like
it."

"They are to be married next June, are they not?" asked Emily, not
noticing the insinuation, save by a slight colour, which the twilight
hid.

"So they say."

"They will be a splendid-looking pair. George and all the gentlemen say
that she is the only really beautiful woman they ever saw."

"Tastes differ," said Rose with a shrug. "I don't think so. She is too
pale, and proud, and cold, and too far up in the clouds altogether. She
ought to go and be a nun; she would make a splendid lady-abbess."

"She will make a splendid Mrs. Stanford."

"Who?" said Mr. Stanford himself, sauntering in. "You, Miss Howard?"

"No; another lady I know of. What kind of a time had you skating?"

"Capital," replied her brother; "for an Englishman, Stanford knocks
everythi