"You may talk about your blazing India, Mr.Stanford, but I would not give our own dear snow-clad Canada for the wealth of a thousand Indies.

Good-night, darling Rose, and pleasant dreams." Miss Howard kissed her.

Mr.Howard came over, and made an attempt to do the same.
"Good-night, darling Rose, and dream of me." Rose's answer was a slap, and then Reginald was beside her, and they were driving through the luminous dusk of the winter moonlight.
"You may stop at the gate, my good fellow," said Mr.Stanford to the driver; "the night is fine--we will walk the rest of the way--eh, Rose ?" Rose's answer was a smile, and they were at the gates almost immediately.

Mr.Stanford drew her hand within his arm, and they sauntered slowly, very slowly, up the dark, tree-shaded avenue.
"How gloomy it is here!" said Rose, clinging to his arm with a delicious little shiver; "and it is midnight, too.

How frightened I should be alone!" "Which means you are not frightened, being with me.