Mr. Clarence was the soul of good humor, but it was provoking to have his own “splendid” hand so ruined by the bad play of his partner that their antagonists, with such very poor hands, actually won the odd trick.

In the next deal Rose got a “miserable” hand; so did her partner, as she discovered by his looks, while Mr. Rockharrt must have had a magnificent hand, to judge from his triumphant expression of countenance.

Rose could, therefore, now afford to redeem her place in the esteem of her partner by playing her very best, without the slightest danger of taking a single trick.

To be brief, through Rose’s management Mr. Rockharrt and Cora won the rubber, and the Iron King rose from the card table exultant, for what old whist player is not pleased with winning the rubber?

“My child,” he said to Rose Stillwater, “this is altogether the pleasantest evening that we have passed since we left the city, and all through you bringing life and activity among us!  I do not think we can ever afford to let you go.”

“Oh, sir! you are too good.  Would to heaven that I might find some place in your household akin to that which I once filled during the happiest years of my life, when I lived here as your dear granddaughter’s governess,” said Rose Stillwater, with a sigh and a smile.

“You shall never leave us again with my consent.  Ah, we have had a very pleasant evening.  What do you think, Clarence?”

“Very pleasant for the winners, sir,” replied the young man, with a good humored laugh, as he lighted his bed room candle and bade them all good night.

Soon after the little party separated and retired for the night.

As time passed, Rose Stillwater continued to make herself more and more useful to her host and benefactor.  She enlivened his table and his evenings at home by her cheerful conversation, her music and her games.  She waited on him hand and foot, helped him on and off with his wraps when he went out or came in; warmed his slippers, filled his pipe, dried his newspapers, served him in innumerable little ways with a childlike eagerness and delight that was as the incense of frankincense and myrrh to the nostrils of the egotist.

And he praised her and held her up as a model to his granddaughter.

Rose Stillwater was a proper young woman, a model young woman, all indeed that a woman should be.  He had never seen one to approach her status in all his long life.  She was certainly the most excellent of her sex.  He did not know what in this gloomy house they could ever do without her.

Such was the burden of his talk to Cora.

Mrs. Rothsay gave but cold assent to all this.  She had too much reverence for the fifth commandment to tell her grandfather what she thought of the situation—­that Rose Stillwater was making a notable fool of him, either for the sake of keeping a comfortable home, or gaining a place in his will, or of something greater still which would include all the rest.