Chapter 8. Threshold Of Danger--Or Isn't It?
Rose, on waking the following morning, was instantly conscious that dramatic events awaited her. She stared about, sat up, saw the sun pour like a soundless primrose river from window to floor, then realized how things were. The party had ended; everyone had gone away. She had seen John only for a moment flit past her down the passage as she went to her room. She had cried after him quietly 'John!' but if he had heard he had given no sign.
At dinner she had expected to be scolded, but as seemed to her now the rule in this house, the opposite occurred.
'I beg your pardon,' she had said quite suddenly. 'I'm afraid you'll never forgive me for being so rude to one of your guests in your house.'
But the Colonel, as fresh and lusty as a prize bull
