A week of this weather, and January was at its close before a change for the better came.

Rose was falling a prey to green and yellow melancholy, and perplexing the whole household by the unaccountable alteration in her.

With the first gleam of fine weather she was off.

Her long morning rides were recommenced; smiles and roses returned to her face, and Rose was herself again.
It took that sprained ankle a very long time to get well.

Three weeks had passed since that January day when Regina had slipped on the ice, and still Mr.Reinecourt was disabled; at least he was when Rose was there.