"Yes, I do. What I have said is true. I don't know how I know it is true; but it is true. Father was saying last night that some people have a sixth sense, and that by it they see things invisible--he was referring to George Fox and Swedenborg--and then he began to wonder if we had not once possessed seven senses; he thought there was inborn assurance of it, because people quite unconsciously swear by their seven senses. But five, or six, or seven, I am inclined to fall in love with Antony Van Hoosen, with the whole of them." "And Dick?" "I had forgotten. Would you see him if you were me? or even write to him?" "_Have_ you written to him?" Rose became scarlet and nervous. She could not tell a lie with that bland innocence of aspect which some women acquire; she had even a feeling of moral degradation, when she uttered the little word, "No." "Then I would not write on any account. I feel sure your love for Dick is only sentiment." "Do you know anything about love or sentiment, Yanna? You did not care whether Harry admired you or not. Harry felt your coldness; he thinks nice women ought to be sentimental, and I can tell you, he is accustomed to being thoroughly appreciated." By this time it was growing dusk, and the three men were seen coming together towards the house. They were walking slowly and talking earnestly, and Yanna said: "I wonder what subject interests them so much?" "Politics or religion, I suppose; but whichever it is, they will utter nonsense as soon as we are within hearing. Here comes Harry with a laugh and a platitude!" "Pardon us, Miss Van Hoosen; we quite forgot that time moved. Have you been very impatient, Rose?" "We have both felt hurt. If you had been talking to Yanna and me, you would have been worrying about the horses, and about the steep roads, and the night miasma, and lots of other things; in fact, you would have had a bad, bad cough, by this time, Harry." "I know it, Rose; and I beg you a thousand pardons. You must blame my hosts. I never enjoyed talking so much before." Then he gave his hand to Antony with a frankness that had something very confiding in it. "Shall I call for you to-morrow?" he asked. "We can get a good boat at the river side." "Thank you," answered Antony, "I will go." "Cannot we go also?" enquired Rose. Then Harry hesitated. He wanted Yanna to say something, and she said nothing. That decided the question. "It is quite impossible, Rose," he answered. "We are going on the river to fish--a little dirty boat, and the blazing sun beating on the river--what pleasure could you have?" "What pleasure can you have? I do not believe you are going a-fishing at all. You are going a-talking, and we could help you;" then, turning to Yanna, she asked: "When are you coming to Filmer again? Not for a week? That will never do. I shall go against your brother if he parts us for so long."