“Hush! The waiters are still about. Come to the study fire and warm yourself, you must be frozen,” said Rose, going before to roll up the easy chair. “Not at all never warmer looks very comfortable, though. Where's Uncle?” asked Charlie, following with his hat still on, his hands in his pockets, and his eye fixed steadily on the bright head in front of him. “Aunt Myra sent for him, and I was waiting up to see how she was,” answered Rose, busily mending the fire. Charlie laughed and sat down upon a corner of the library table. “Poor old soul! What a pity she doesn't die before he is quite worn out. A little too much ether some of these times would send her off quite comfortably, you know.” “Don't speak in that way. Uncle says imaginary troubles are often as hard to bear as real ones,” said Rose, turning around displeased. Till now she had not fairly looked at him, for recollections of the morning made her a little shy. His attitude and appearance surprised her as much as his words, and the quick change in her face seemed to remind him of his manners. Getting up, he hastily took off his hat and stood looking at her with a curiously fixed yet absent look as he said in the same rapid, abrupt way, as if, when once started, he found it hard to stop, “I beg pardon only joking very bad taste I know, and won't do it again. The heat of the room makes me a little dizzy, and I think I got a chill coming out. It is cold I am frozen, I daresay though I drove like the devil.” “Not that bad horse of yours, I hope? I know it is dangerous, so late and alone,” said Rose, shrinking behind the big chair as Charlie approached the fire, carefully avoiding a footstool in his way. “Danger is exciting that's why I like it. No man ever called me a coward let him try it once. I never give in and that horse shall not conquer me. I'll break his neck, if he breaks my spirit doing it. No I don't mean that never mind it's all right,” and Charlie laughed in a way that troubled her, because there was no mirth in it. “Have you had a pleasant day?” asked Rose, looking at him intently as he stood pondering over the cigar and match which he held, as if doubtful which to strike and which to smoke. “Day? Oh, yes, capital. About two thousand calls, and a nice little supper at the Club. Randal can't sing any more than a crow, but I left him with a glass of champagne upside down, trying to give them my old favorite: “'Tis better to laugh than be sighing,” and Charlie burst forth in that bacchanalian melody at the top of his voice, waving an allumette holder over his head to represent Randal's inverted wineglass.