ng. Hallo, Rose! who'd have thought it?"

Rose emerged from the shadow of the window curtains, and shook hands
carelessly with Master George.

"I drove over for her after you went," said his sister, "come, there's
the dinner-bell, and Mr. Stanford looks hungry."

"And is hungry," said Mr. Stanford, giving her his arm. "I shall
astonish Mrs. Howard by my performance this evening."

They were not a very large party--Mr. and Mrs. Howard, their son and
daughter, Mr. Stanford and Rose--but they were a very merry one. Mr.
Stanford had been in India once, three years ago, and told them
wonderful stories of tiger hunts, and Hindoo girls, and jungle
adventures, and Sepoy warfare, until he carried his audience away from
the frozen Canadian land to the burning sun and tropical splendours and
perils of far-off India. Then, after dinner, when Mr. Howard, Senior,
went to his library to write letters, and Mrs. Howard dozed in an
easy-chair by the fire, there was music, and sparkling chit-chat, racy
as the bright Moselle at dinner, and games at cards, and fortune-telling
by Mr. Howard, Junior; and it was twelve before Rose thought it
half-past ten.

"I must go," said Rose, starting up. "I had no idea it was so late. I
must go at once."

The two young ladies went upstairs for Miss Danton's wraps. When they
descended, the sleigh was waiting, and all went out together. The bright
March day had ended in a frosty, starlit, windless night. A tiny moon
glittered sparkling overhead, and silvering the snowy ground.

"Oh, what a night!" cried Emily Howard. "You may talk about your blazing
India, Mr. Stanford, but I would not give our own dear snow-clad Canada
for the wealth of a thousand Indies. Good-night, darling Rose, and
pleasant dreams."

Miss Howard kissed her. Mr. Howard came over, and made an attempt to do
the same.

"Good-night, darling Rose, and dream of me."

Rose's answer was a slap, and then Reginald was beside her, and they
were driving through the luminous dusk of the winter moonlight.

"You may stop at the gate, my good fellow," said Mr. Stanford to the
driver; "the night is fine--we will walk the rest of the way--eh, Rose?"

Rose's answer was a smile, and they were at the gates almost
immediately. Mr. Stanford drew her hand within his arm, and they
sauntered slowly, very slowly, up the dark, tree-shaded avenue.

"How gloomy it is here!" said Rose, clinging to his arm with a delicious
little shiver; "and it is mid