alth as she said it--more like some bright wild
mountain-flower than a girl.

"I'm quite sure you are not so tired as either Rosalie or myself,"
pursued her mother warmly, "and I think that at least you might have
let me know of your decision earlier."

"Yes, mother; I suppose I might, though I don't quite know what
difference it would have made. I beg your pardon, anyway. But I don't
see why you go, either, if you are tired. Rosalie looks dead beat."
She was looking at her sister in an oddly tender way.

"Nothing wrong, I hope, Rosie?" she asked, in a voice so soft and
appealing that Mrs. Ozanne would not have been astonished if the gentle
and easily moved Rosalie had responded by pouring out her heart. But,
instead, she turned away, biting a trembling lip, and put on her wraps
without speaking. Rosanne shrugged her shoulders and went out of the
room in her rapid, silent way.

"Mother, I feel I hate her!" Rosalie muttered, with burning eyes. Her
mother was profoundly shocked.

"Oh, hush, my darling!" she whispered. "You don't know what you are
saying."

Linking her arm in her daughter's, she led the way in silence to the
carriage.

Rosanne, meanwhile, went into the dining-room and had something cold
brought to her there by Maria, the old Cape cook. All the other
servants were out for the evening, as was the rule on the rare
occasions when the family did not entertain. Having dined, the girl
went to her bedroom. The house was of the bungalow type--everything on
the ground floor and no upper stories. All the bedrooms gave on to the
great veranda that ran round the house, but Rosanne's room, being at
the corner, had two French windows, one facing the front garden with a
full view of the tennis-courts and drive, the other, shaded by creepers
and a great tree-fern, looked out to the clustered trees and winding
paths of the side gardens. It was from this door that Rosanne emerged,
half an hour later, dressed in something so subtly night-coloured that
she looked like a grey moth flickering through the trees of the garden.
Softly she let herself out of the little side gate chiefly used by the
servants, and, slipping from shadow to shadow in the dim lights of
quiet back streets, she made her way toward the commercial part of the
town. The main street--that same Du Toit's Pan Road where John
Ozanne's hotel had once flourished--was brightly lighted by large
arc-lamps, but never once did Rosanne come within r