She would wander outside at all hours, under Mr.Richards' window; and looking up, wonder how he endured his prison, or what he could possibly be about--if those dark curtains were never raised and he never looked at the outer world.

Once or twice a face had appeared, but it was always the keen, thin face of Mr.Ogden; and Rose's curiosity, growing by what it fed on, began to get insupportable.
"What can it mean, Grace ?" she would say to the housekeeper, to whom she had a fashion, despite no end of snubbing, of confiding her secret troubles.

"There's something wrong; where there's secrecy, there's guilt--I've always heard that." "Don't jump at conclusions, Miss Rose, and don't trouble yourself about Mr.Richards; it is no affair of yours." "But I can't help troubling myself.

What business have papa, and Kate, and that nasty Ogden, to have a secret between them and I not know it?
I feel insulted, and I'll have revenge.

I never mean to stop till I ferret out the mystery.