Rose looked across at him affectionately, but she was wondering what he thought of William Fox; she had never dared to ask. “It’s a hard law, father,” she said gently, “we all want to be happy.” “You will be--just in proportion to your right to be,” he retorted calmly; “it’s a matter of the heart anyway, Rose, and not of external matters.” “I suppose so,” she replied, with a slight sigh; “but one would like to have externals and internals agree, don’t you think?” The old man laughed pleasantly. “Most of us would,” he admitted, “but we never have our way in this world, not in my observation.” As he spoke there was a stir in the hall, and a young girl appeared at the drawing-room door. “It’s Gertrude English,” Rose said; “don’t go yet, father, I’ll take her away.” But it appeared that the judge had to go to court, and he went out, patting little Miss English on the shoulder as he passed. “We children grow,” he said laughing. “I wish I’d grown more,” she retorted ruefully; “everybody calls me ‘a little thing,’ and I’m not, really, I’m five feet four.” “Napoleon was small,” remarked the judge teasingly, “and William Third and Louis Fourteenth.” “I know what you think of two of those!” objected Gertrude; “we remember our history lessons here, don’t we, Rose?” “Well--but when a rogue’s famous!” said the judge, and went out smiling at his own jest. Miss English walked over to the window and watched Rose water her plants and turn them religiously to the sun. “Take off your hat, Gertrude,” she said pleasantly; “you really look tired; can’t you stay awhile?” Gertrude shook her head. “No,” she said firmly; “I’ve got about a million notes to write for Margaret and the lunch cards to get ready for to-morrow; to-night she dines the President. I’m tired of it; I wish I could make money cracking stones!” “Poor Gerty!” Rose looked at her with gentle concern; “you’re very pale, you look as if you hadn’t slept.” “I haven’t,” said Miss English flatly, “not a wink.” “I hope Margaret doesn’t make you work late,” Rose murmured, beginning to search again for dead leaves. “Margaret?” the little secretary sat down and leaned her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands; “Rose, I’m so sorry for her!” “She seems gay enough,” Rose observed quietly. “I should say so! I was there very late last night; it was one of her entertainments, and little Ward was sick. I sat with him. You know she treats the children sometimes like playthings, and again--like rats! I was in the nursery watching him and helping the nurse until all the guests went. Then I went down stairs; I wanted to tell Margaret what I’d done, and I went to the ballroom door. She didn’t hear me call to her, and I went back up stairs feeling like a sneak. She was there with Mr. Fox and she was crying dreadfully when I saw her.”