perturbation. Why should he fear to see her? The past was over.
Never was any decision given more irrevocably; even if there had been
any question as to an open future, that had been disposed of by the
news that had met him on his return to England. It ought only to be a
pleasure to him to see her. He thought she would welcome him in a kind
way; and he would show her that he quite accepted circumstances as they
were. Only--and this he kept repeating to himself--he must expect to
be disillusionised. Nan would no longer be that former Nan. Some of
the freshness and the young wonder would be gone; she would be eligible
as a friend; that, on the whole, was better.

Well, the door opened, and he turned quickly, and then his heart
jumped. No; she had not changed at all, he said to himself, as she
advanced towards him with a smile and a frankly extended hand. The
same pleasant eyes, the same graceful, lithe figure, the same soft
voice, as she said--

'Oh, how do you do, Captain King?'

And yet he was bewildered. There was something strange.

'I--I am very glad to see you again, Miss Anne,' he stammered.

She looked at him for a moment, puzzled, and then she said, with a
quiet smile,--

'Oh, but I'm not Nan. I see you have forgotten me. I'm Madge.'

CHAPTER XII.

NEW POSSIBILITIES.

'Many people have told me I am very like what Nan used to be,'
continued Miss Madge, pleasantly. 'And there is a photograph of
her----. Let me see, where is it?'

She went to a table and opened an album, his eyes following her with
wonder and a vague bewildered delight. For this was a new acquisition
to the world--another Nan, a Nan free from all hateful ties, a Nan not
engaged to be married. Presently she returned with a card in her hand.

'It was taken at Rome the time Nan went to Italy. That's more than
three years now. I think myself it is like me, though it is rather too
young for me.'

It was indeed remarkably like this Madge who now stood beside him. But
yet sure enough it was Nan--the Nan that he remembered walking about
the brilliant hot gardens at Bellagio. Here she was standing at a
table, her head bent down, her hand placed on an open book. It was a
pretty attitude, but it hid Nan's eyes.

'Yes, it would do capitally as a portrait of you,' he said quickly; 'no
wonder I was mistaken. And your sister Edith, has she grown up to be
like your eldest sister in the same way?'

'Oh no; Edith never w