Everything was going on well; the house was in exquisite order from attic to cellar.
Ogden shut up with Mr.Richards, the servants quietly busy, and Danton Hall as still as a church on a week-day.

Grace, humming a little tune, took her sewing into the dining-room, where she liked best to sit, and began stitching away industriously.

The ticking of a clock on the mantel making its way to twelve, the rattling of the stripped trees in the fresh morning wind, were, for a time, the only sounds outdoor or in.
Then wheels rattled rapidly over the graveled drive, coming to the house in a hurry, and Grace looked up in surprise.
"Back so soon," she thought?
"They cannot have driven far." But it was not the handsome new barouche--it was only a shabby little buggy from the station, in which a young lady sat with a pile of trunks and bandboxes.
"Rose!" exclaimed Grace.

"I quite forgot she was coming to-day." A moment later and the front door opened and shut with a bang, flying feet came along the hall, a silk dress rustled stormily, the dining-room door was flung open, and a young lady bounced in and caught Grace in a rapturous hug.
"You darling old thing!" cried a fresh young voice.

"I knew I should find you here, even if I hadn't seen you sitting at the window.