the water, and left the sentence unfinished.
There was a long silence. Doctor Frank fished away as if his life
depended on it; and Stanford lay and watched him, and thought--who knows
what?

The May afternoon wore on, the slanting lines of the red sunset flamed
in the tree-tops, and shed its reflected glory on the placid water. The
hum of evening bustle came up from the village drowsily; and Doctor
Danton, laying down his line, looked at his watch.

"Are you asleep, Stanford? Do you know it is six o'clock?"

"By George!" said Reginald, starting up. "I had no idea it was so late.
Are you for the Hall?"

"Of course. Don't I deserve my dinner in return for this string of
silvery fish? Come along."

The two young men walked leisurely and rather silently homeward. As they
entered the gates, they caught sight of a young lady advancing slowly
towards them--a young lady dressed in pale pink, with ribbons fluttering
and curls flowing.

"The first rose of summer!" said Doctor Frank. "The future Madame La
Touche!"

"Have you come to meet us, Rose?" asked Stanford. "Very polite of you."

"I won't be _de trop_," said the Doctor; "I'll go on."

Rose turned with Reginald, and Doctor Danton walked away, leaving them
to follow at their leisure.

In the entrance Hall he met Kate, stately and beautiful, dressed in
rustling silk, and with flowers in her golden hair.

"Have you seen Mr. Stanford?" she asked, glancing askance at the fish.

"Yes; he is in the grounds with Rose."

She smiled, and went past. Doctor Frank looked after her with a glance
of unmistakable admiration.

"Blind! blind! blind!" he thought. "What fools men are! Only children of
a larger growth, throwing away gold for the pitiful glistening of
tinsel."

Kate caught a glimpse of a pink skirt, fluttering in and out among the
trees, and made for it. Her light step on the sward gave back no echo.
How earnestly Reginald was talking--how consciously Rose was listening
with downcast face! What was that he was giving her? A letter! Surely
not; and yet how much it looked like it. Another moment, and she was
beside them, and Rose had started away from Reginald's side, her face
crimson. If ever guilt's red banner hung on any countenance, it did on
hers; and Kate's eyes wandered wonderingly from one to the other. Mr.
Stanford was as placid as the serene sunset sky above them. Like
Talleyrand, if he had been kicked from behind, his face would never have
shown it.