ed in the house.
Frank King had not time to think about Nan now; it was Madge Beresford
who had sent him that bit of forget-me-not.

CHAPTER XVI.

REVERIES.

No sooner had Nan come back to Brighton again, and been installed once
more in her former position, than the whole house seemed to be pervaded
by a quite new sense of satisfaction, the cause of which was not even
guessed at. The wheels of the domestic machinery worked far more
smoothly; even the servants seemed to partake of the general brightness
and cheerfulness. Edith, the stupid sister, put it down to the
Christmas-time, and congratulated herself on her evergreens on the
walls. Mr. Tom observed that the house was far better managed when Nan
was at home: that meant that he found his slippers when he wanted them,
and that there was always a taper on the chimneypiece in the
billiard-room. Lady Beresford had all her little whims attended to; and
as for Madge, that young lady was greatly delighted to have a safe and
sure confidante. For she was much exercised at this time both with her
fears about Mr. Hanbury, who followed her about like a ghost, kept
silent by the dread of Vice-Chancellors and tipstaffs, and her vain
little hopes about Captain Frank King, whose intentions were scarcely a
matter of doubt. Nan listened in her grave, sweet way that had earned
for her, from Madge, the name of 'Old Mother Nan;' and then would say
some nice thing to her sister; and then would carry her away on some
charitable enterprise.

For this was the Christmas time; and what with continual choral
services, and evergreens, and unearthly music in the still cold nights,
there was a sort of exaltation in the air; and Nan wished to be
practical. In consequence, Lady Beresford was gravely oppressed.

'I do believe, Nan,' she said, vexedly, one morning as she was writing
out a cheque--'I do believe your only notion of Christianity is the
giving away coals.'

'And a very good notion too,' said Tom, who would allow no one to say
anything against Nan.

But then came that fateful letter from Frank King. It arrived on a
January morning--on a clear and brilliant forenoon, just as Nan and her
younger sister were going out for a walk, tempted by the sunlight and
the colours of the sea. Madge herself took it from the postman at the
door; glanced at the address, hastily opened the envelope, and guessed
at, rather than read, the contents.

'Oh, Nan,' she said hurriedly, 'wai