Her light step on the sward gave back no echo.
How earnestly Reginald was talking--how consciously Rose was listening with downcast face! What was that he was giving her?
A letter! Surely not; and yet how much it looked like it.

Another moment, and she was beside them, and Rose had started away from Reginald's side, her face crimson.

If ever guilt's red banner hung on any countenance, it did on hers; and Kate's eyes wandered wonderingly from one to the other.

Mr.
Stanford was as placid as the serene sunset sky above them.

Like Talleyrand, if he had been kicked from behind, his face would never have shown it.
"I thought you were away fishing," said Kate.