e black, and
it became her in her character of widow. The daughter next appeared; she
was a smoothed and rounded copy of her mother, with the same decision in
her mien that Leonora had, and a bounding gait in which he traced a faint
resemblance to his own at her age.

For the first time he absolutely made up his mind to call on them. But
his antecedent step was to send Leonora a note the next morning, stating
his proposal to visit her, and suggesting the evening as the time,
because she seemed to be so greatly occupied in her professional capacity
during the day. He purposely worded his note in such a form as not to
require an answer from her which would be possibly awkward to write.

No answer came. Naturally he should not have been surprised at this; and
yet he felt a little checked, even though she had only refrained from
volunteering a reply that was not demanded.

At eight, the hour fixed by himself, he crossed over and was passively
admitted by the servant. Mrs. Frankland, as she called herself, received
him in the large music-and-dancing room on the first-floor front, and not
in any private little parlour as he had expected. This cast a
distressingly business-like colour over their first meeting after so many
years of severance. The woman he had wronged stood before him,
well-dressed, even to his metropolitan eyes, and her manner as she came
up to him was dignified even to hardness. She certainly was not glad to
see him. But what could he expect after a neglect of twenty years!

'How do you do, Mr. Millborne?' she said cheerfully, as to any chance
caller. 'I am obliged to receive you here because my daughter has a
friend downstairs.'

'Your daughter--and mine.'

'Ah--yes, yes,' she replied hastily, as if the addition had escaped her
memory. 'But perhaps the less said about that the better, in fairness to
me. You will consider me a widow, please.'

'Certainly, Leonora . . . ' He could not get on, her manner was so cold
and indifferent. The expected scene of sad reproach, subdued to delicacy
by the run of years, was absent altogether. He was obliged to come to
the point without preamble.

'You are quite free, Leonora--I mean as to marriage? There is nobody who
has your promise, or--'

'O yes; quite free, Mr. Millborne,' she said, somewhat surprised.

'Then I will tell you why I have come. Twenty years ago I promised to
make you my wife; and I am here to fulfil that promise. Heaven forgi