"Is it Miss Lucy?" (with a jerk.)
A pause. "No," said Phyllis, at last.
Frank sprang to his feet with a beaming countenance and caught both her hands with unfeigned cordiality. "Then it is you, Miss Phyllis, that I have to congratulate."
Her eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth as she answered ruefully, "No, indeed, Mr. Jermyn!"
Frank dropped her hands, wrinkling his brows in perplexity, then a light dawned on him suddenly, and was reflected in his expressive countenance.
"It must be Fan!" He forgot the prefix in his astonishment.
Phyllis nodded. "But you musn't look so surprised," she said, taking a chair beside him. "Why shouldn't poor old Fan be married as well as other people?"
"Of course; how stupid of me not to think of it before," said Frank, vaguely.
"It is quite a romance," went on Phyllis; "she and Mr. Marsh wanted to be married ages and ages ago. But he was too poor, and went to Australia. Now he is well off, and has come back to marry Fan, like a person in a book. A touching tale of young love, is it not?"