of this city hated their fellow-men. So, since 'twas welcome to be thus
kindly entreated, I believed it but the act of courtesy to express our
thanks more seeming than we might as that we were two beggars by the
wayside. Therefore, I pay the first flower of my perpetual tribute." He
bowed and extended, as he spoke, a deep red rose. His eye, though still
direct, was as much imploring as it was bold.

Instinctively Mary Connynge and Lady Catharine had drawn together,
retreating somewhat from this intrusion. They were now standing, like
any school girls, looking timidly over their shoulders, as he advanced.
Lady Catharine hesitated, and yet she moved forward a half pace, as
though bidden by some unheard voice. "'Twas nothing, what we did for you
and your brother," said she. She extended her hand as she spoke. "As for
the flower, I think--I think a rose is a sweet-pretty thing."

She bent her cheek above the blossom, and whether the cheek or the petal
were the redder, who should say? If there were any ill at ease in that
room, it was not Law of Lauriston. He stood calm as though there by
right. It was an escapade, an adventure, without doubt, as both these
young women saw plainly enough. And now, what to do with this adventure
since it had arrived?

"Sir," said Lady Catharine at length, "I am sure you must be wearied
with the heavy heats of the town. Your brother must still be weak from
his hurt. Pray you, be seated." She placed the rose upon the tabouret as
she passed, and presently pulled at the bell cord.

"James," said she, standing very erect and full of dignity, "go to the
library and see if Sir Charles be within."