You heard her the other day ask me for that old English song that I sang?
I wrote it out this afternoon, and gave it to her.

Are you jealous, Kate ?" "Dreadfully! Don't you go paying compliments to Rose, sir; reserve them for me.

Come down the tamarack walk." Leaning fondly on his arm, Kate walked with her lover up and down the green avenue until the dinner-bell summoned them in.
And all the time, Rose, up in her own room, was reading, with flushed cheeks and glistening eyes, that letter written by the brook-side, beginning, "Angel of my Dreams." When the family assembled at dinner, it was found that Rose was absent.
A servant sent in search of her returned with word that Miss Rose had a headache, and begged they would excuse her.
Kate went up to her room immediately after dinner.

But found it locked.
She rapped, and called, but there was no sign, and no response from within.
"She is asleep," thought Kate; and went down again.
She tried again, some hours later, on her way to her own room, but still was unable to obtain entrance or answer.

If she could only have seen her, sitting by the window reading and re-reading that letter in French, beginning "Angel of my Dreams." Rose came down to breakfast next morning quite well again.