Rose strolled into the library, took
up a magazine, sat down, and pretended to read.
"I'm so sorry to be late to breakfast," remarked Isabel, following her.
"But perhaps it's just as well, as I wasn't invited."
"Nobody was invited," returned Rose, coolly. "I went out for an early
walk, chanced to meet Mr. Kent, and he invited himself here to
breakfast."
"I didn't know you were in the habit of taking early walks."
"I'm trying to acquire the habit," answered Rose, with icy sweetness.
"It won't be hard," Isabel said, maliciously, "if they're all equally
pleasant." She slammed the door as she went out, shutting Rose in the
library.
For an instant Rose was angry, then her sense of humour triumphed and
she laughed quietly until the tears came. There was no need now to
meditate upon that mysterious look in the girl's eyes, for she had
translated it herself.
"The idea," said Rose to herself. "That foolish little child!" She tried
to recall the conversation at the breakfast table, and remembered, with
regret, that they had discussed Isabel quite freely. The thought that
Isabel might have been listening before she made her presence known came
forward persistently, though Rose hated herself for it.
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