nt.

'But not for you--not for you!' he cried. 'Why, it is preposterous for
you to think of such a thing. There are plenty who have nothing else in
the world to look forward to. You have all your life before you yet.
My dear Miss Anne, you must not indulge in day-dreams. Look at your
sister Madge. Oh, by-the-way, she said something about your mamma
having sent me a note this morning, asking me to dine with you on Friday
evening; and then remembering, after the note was posted, that on that
evening you had taken a box for the pantomime. Well, there needs be no
trouble about that, if I may join your party to go there also.'

Nan said nothing; but perhaps there was the slightest trace of surprise,
or interrogation in her look. Immediately he said--

'Oh, I very much approve of pantomimes, from a professional point of
view--I do, really. You see, the imagination of most people is very
dull--it wants a stimulus--and I am perfectly certain, if the truth were
known, that the great majority of people in this country have derived
their pictorial notions of heaven from the transformation-scenes in
pantomimes. I am certain of it. John Martin's pictures--the only other
alternative--are not striking enough. So, on the whole, I very much
approve of pantomimes; and I shall be very glad to go with you on
Friday, if I may.'

Nan made some excuse, shook hands with him, and went. She walked home
hurriedly, she knew not why; it almost seemed as though she wanted to
leave something well behind her. And she was very kind to her sisters
for the remainder of that day; but somewhat grave.

Meanwhile, Madge's letter to her married sister in London had been sent.
And the first answer to it was contained in a postscript to a letter
addressed by Mary Beresford to her mother. This was the postscript:--

'_What is this nonsense Madge writes to me about herself and Holford
King? Has Captain King got it into his head that he would like to marry
his deceased wife's sister?_'

Lady Beresford threw the letter aside with a sigh, wishing people would
not write in conundrums.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE ACCEPTED SUITOR.

'Oh, Nan, here is the cab. What shall I say to him? What am I to say
to him?'

'I think you ought to know yourself, dear,' said Nan, gently, and then
she slipped away from the room, leaving Madge alone and standing at the
window.

But after all it was not so serious a matter. Some one came into the
room, and M