adge turned.

'May I call you Madge?' said he, holding both her hands.

She answered, with her eyes cast down--

'I suppose I must call you Frank.'

That was all, for at the same moment Mr. Tom was heard calling to his
mother and sisters that Captain King had arrived; and directly after,
Lady Beresford and Edith entered the room, followed by Mr. Tom, who was
declaring that they must have dinner put forward to six o'clock, if
they were all to go to the pantomime.

There was a little embarrassment--not much. Frank King kept looking
towards the door. He wondered why Nan had not come with the others.
He was curious to see how much she had changed. Perhaps he should not
even recognise her? Without scarcely knowing why, he was hoping she
might not be quite like the Nan of former days.

Mr. Tom consulted his watch again.

'Shall I ring and tell them to hurry on dinner, mother?'

'We cannot alter the dinner hour now,' Lady Beresford said,
plaintively. 'It has already been altered once. Both Mr. Roberts and
Mr. Jacomb promised to come at half-past six, so that you might all go
to the pantomime together in good time.'

'What?' cried Mr. Tom. 'Jacomb? Did you say Jacomb, mother?'

'I said Mr. Roberts and Mr. Jacomb,' said his mother.

'And what the etcetera is he doing in that gallery!' exclaimed Mr. Tom.
'Well, I guess we shall have a high old time of it at dinner.
Soda-water and incense. But there's one thing they always agree about.
Get them on to port-wine vintages, and they run together like a brace
of greyhounds.'

Here Captain King begged to be excused, as there was but little time
for him to go along to his hotel and get dressed for this early dinner.
When--being accompanied to the door by Mr. Tom himself--he had left,
Madge said--

'How do you like him, mamma? Are you pleased with him?'

'He has not spoken to me yet, you know,' said the mother, wearily; she
had had to go through several such scenes, and they worried her.

'Oh, but it's all arranged,' Madge said, cheerfully. 'He won't bother
you about a solemn interview. It's all arranged. How did you think he
looked, Edith? I do hope he won't lose that brown colour by not going
back to sea; it suits him; I don't like pastey-faced men. Now, Mr.
Jacomb isn't pastey-faced, although he is a clergyman. By-the-way,
what has become of Nan?'

Nan had been quite forgotten. Perhaps she was dressing early, or
looking after the dinner-table; at al