She walked away to one of the windows, to read it by herself.

Grace watched the tall, slender figure curiously.

She was beginning to be a mystery to her.
"She is on the best of terms with Sir Ronald Keith," she thought; "she meets some man by night in the grounds, and the sight of this handwriting brings all the blood in her body to her face.

I suppose she loves him; I suppose he loves her.

I wonder what he would think if he knew what I know." The morning mail brought Rose a letter from Ottawa, which she devoured with avidity, and flourished before Grace's eyes.
"A love letter, Mistress Grace," she said.