It was impossible that the discordant elements of social life assembled at Ashley Hall could harmonize for an instant. Of the family party gathered around the breakfast table, the pale, beautiful India assumed a mask of smiles—Mr. Ashley wore a look of anxious perplexity he did not care to hide—Mark Sutherland appeared self-possessed, but was too conscious to feel really at ease. Colonel Ashley was secretly annoyed, to find the re-union around the breakfast table not quite so cheerful as might have been expected. Mrs. Vivian was vexed at the general tacit antagonism, and resolved, if this should last, to bring her visit to a close as soon as possible. Nevertheless, she kept up an irregular fire of wit and repartee, to prevent the party falling into dead silence. Rosalie alone was truly at ease. She was totally ignorant of any cause of disunion in the circle, and too much absorbed in her own infinite content, to notice signs of disturbance among those around her. When breakfast was over, the little lady drew Rosalie off into the piazza, and away up to the honeysuckle-shaded end, where no one was likely to come but the honey bees. “And now, Rose,” she asked, “what is it? Your eyes have poured streams of light all breakfast time, like sun glances; they have projected rays wherever they have fallen. Now what is it all about?” “One should be merry in wedding times!” “Merry in wedding times! Look here, Rosalie! Some marriages are made in heaven, some on earth, and some—_in the other place_. But it was not merriment, but profound, still joy, that lighted your eyes, Rose! Now, what was it all about?” “Mark loves me, mamma!” whispered the girl, hiding her face upon her step-mother’s shoulder. “Now, that’s the most absurd thing I ever heard in all my life!” exclaimed the little lady, shoving her off, and walking rapidly away with a highly-flushed cheek. Rosalie knew her too well, and trusted her too thoroughly, to feel any anxiety. She walked behind her, put her arms around her waist, and, bending forward, looked up smilingly into her eyes. “You needn’t think to get the better of me that way, Rose! It is ridiculous, I say! What do you mean to do with this love?” Rose folded both hands over her bosom with a look of unspeakable content. Both look and gesture were involuntary. “Aye, hoard it away, treasure it deep in your heart, I suppose you mean. Silly girl! Well, what is to be the end of it all? What practical object do you propose to yourself? When ever do you expect to be _married_?” “Whenever Mark asks me, mamma!” “It is just madness!” exclaimed the lady, impatiently; “he has not a dollar!” “Yes, he has! All that I have, mamma!” “All that you have! Do you imagine for an instant that your guardian will give up one cent of your property during your minority? No; he will even stop your allowance if you become the wife of Mark Sutherland!”