ght brought the tableau as vividly before him years and years
after, as when he saw it then.

The song was ended. Miss Danton's ringed white fingers were flying over
the keys in a brilliant waltz. George Howard and Rose were floating
round and round, in air, as it seemed, and Stanford was watching with
half-closed eyes. And in the midst of all, above the ringing music and
the sighing of the wild wind, there came the clanging of sleigh-bells
and a loud ring at the house-door. Rose and George Howard ceased their
waltz. Kate's flying fingers stopped. The card-party looked up
inquisitively.

"Who can it be," said the Captain, "'who knocks so loud, and knocks so
late,' this stormy night?"

The servant who threw open the drawing-room door answered him. "M. La
Touche," announced Babette, and vanished.

There was a little cry of astonishment from Rose; an instant's
irresolute pause. Captain Danton arose. The name was familiar to him
from his daughter. But Rose had recovered herself before he could
advance, and came forward, her pretty face flushed.

"Where on earth did you drop from?" she asked, composedly shaking hands
with him. "Did you snow down from Ottawa?"

"No," said M. La Touche. "I've snowed down from Laprairie. I came from
Montreal in this evening's train, and drove up here, in spite of wind
and weather."

Captain Danton came forward; and Rose, still a little confused,
presented M. La Touche. The cordial Captain shook with his usual
heartiness the proffered hand of the young man, bade him welcome, and
put an instant veto on his leaving them that night.

"There are plenty of bedrooms here, and it is not a night to turn an
enemy's dog from the door. My cousin, Miss Grace Danton, M. La Touche;
my daughter, Eveleen; and Doctor Frank Danton."

M. La Touche bowed with native grace to these off-hand introductions,
and then was led off by Rose to the piano-corner, to be duly presented
there. She had not made up her mind yet whether she were vexed or
pleased to see her lover. Whatever little affection she had ever given
him--and it must have been of the flimsiest from the first--had
evaporated long ago, like smoke. But Rose had no idea of pining in
maiden solitude, even if she lost the fascinating Reginald, and she knew
that homely old saw about coming to the ground between two stools.

M. La Touche had the good fortune to produce a pleasing impression upon
all to whom he was introduced. He was very good-looking, w