Rose, aflame with curiosity, tip-toed to her own door, and applied her ear to the key-hole.

Kate's door opened; there was a whispered colloquy; the listener could not catch the words, but the voice that spoke to Kate was not the voice of Ogden.

Five minutes--ten--then the door shut, the footsteps went by her door again, and down stairs.
Who was it?
Not Ogden, not her father; could it be--could it be Mr.
Richards himself.
Rose clasped her hands, and stood bewildered.

Her own troubles had so occupied her mind of late that she had almost forgotten Mr.Richards; but now her old curiosity returned in full force.
"If he has gone out," thought Rose, "what is to hinder me from seeing his rooms.

I would give the world to see them!" She stood for a moment irresolute.
Then, impulsively, she seized a dressing-gown, covered her bright head with the shawl, opened her door softly, and peeped out.
All still and deserted.