“I am afraid it is against the rules of the house.” Then Rosalie got up with a sigh, and prepared to get inside the first garment. “There is your bath first.” “I never bath in the morning; I always leave that till night.” “I think you had better do that which is customary.” Again Rosalie sighed, and followed her tormentress to an adjoining bath-room. And so it took her well on into the hour before she was dressed, ready to leave the bedroom. Mariana, who stayed to help her, insisted on arranging her hair, and after all arranged it much more becomingly than Rosalie herself had ever done. But the black robe with its red silk facings, that fitted her companion so becomingly, suited her not at all. The fit was as perfect as it could be, but otherwise she looked quite out of place in it. Breakfast was served on the same floor as that on which her bedroom was—three rooms away. All this portion of the house evidently looked out on to nothing better than the wall mentioned before; but the beauty of the interior compensated for outside gloom. Rosalie was charmed with everything she saw, though somewhat awe-struck, and she took her breakfast shyly from the hands of what she described to herself as the handsomest man she had ever seen. She also made a mental note that he must be brother to the man she saw downstairs. Rosalie had not gone all this time without grateful remembrance of that ordinary gift she had come to possess; but somehow there was some vague, indescribable thing in her surroundings that took away a full appreciation. She was longing to be outside, to talk with people more like herself, not all in black with red silk facings and knee breeches, and voices modulated to a soft perfection. Rosalie’s voice was sweet, but it was not the sweetness found in theirs. Hers was the outcome of expression, theirs of classical harmony. But how was she to get away? She dare not ask Mariana, for she was getting an uncomfortable idea that Mariana, from no ill motive, always thwarted and opposed her. So, watching her opportunity, she escaped and passed down the spiral staircase. In the big hall below all was silent as death. Evidently no one was about. She ran across to the big doors with a palpitating heart—outside them was freedom, she scarcely knew from what. Alas! Another hand had touched the large glass handle before her own. “Your card, madam. Your passport out.” “I have none. I shall not be away five minutes.” “I am afraid you cannot go.” “But I must go.” There was no answer. Exasperated, Rosalie stood and faced him. “You let me in, and you can let me out.” “The orders are that you are not to pass.” “Whose orders?” “The master’s.” “Then take me to him.” “He is engaged at present.” “I’ll go myself, then.” CHAPTER VII A DEBT OF GRATITUDE