refuge in the
shadow of his prominence. Madame de Chantelle, though she had
consented to Owen's engagement and formally welcomed his betrothed,
was nevertheless not sorry to show, by her reception of Darrow, of
what finely-shaded degrees of cordiality she was capable. Miss Painter,
having won the day for Owen, was also free to turn her attention to the
newer candidate for her sympathy; and Darrow and Anna found themselves
immersed in a warm bath of sentimental curiosity.

It was a relief to Darrow that he was under a positive obligation to end
his visit within the next forty-eight hours. When he left London, his
Ambassador had accorded him a ten days' leave. His fate being definitely
settled and openly published he had no reason for asking to have the
time prolonged, and when it was over he was to return to his post till
the time fixed for taking up his new duties. Anna and he had therefore
decided to be married, in Paris, a day or two before the departure of
the steamer which was to take them to South America; and Anna, shortly
after his return to England, was to go up to Paris and begin her own
preparations.

In honour of the double betrothal Effie and Miss Viner were to appear
that evening at dinner; and Darrow, on leaving his room, met the little
girl springing down the stairs, her white ruffles and coral-coloured
bows making her look like a daisy with her yellow hair for its centre.
Sophy Viner was behind her pupil, and as she came into the light Darrow
noticed a change in her appearance and wondered vaguely why she looked
suddenly younger, more vivid, more like the little luminous ghost of his
Paris memories. Then it occurred to him that it was the first time she
had appeared at dinner since his arrival at Givre, and the first time,
consequently, that he had seen her in evening dress. She was still at
the age when the least adornment embellishes; and no doubt the mere
uncovering of her young throat and neck had given her back her former
brightness. But a second glance showed a more precise reason for his
impression. Vaguely though he retained such details, he felt sure she
was wearing the dress he had seen her in every evening in Paris. It was
a simple enough dress, black, and transparent on the arms and shoulders,
and he would probably not have recognized it if she had not called his
attention to it in Paris by confessing that she hadn't any other. "The
same dress? That proves that she's forgotten!" was his firs