Walking one day along the sea-front by herself, Fanny observed a young man’s figure a few paces in advance of her, which seemed to awaken recollections. Presently the young man turned and showed, beyond doubt, the countenance of Horace Lord. He met her eyes, gave a doubtful, troubled look, and was going past when Fanny accosted him.
‘Well, don’t you know me?’
‘Why, it is—it really is! How glad I am to see you! But what on earth are you doing here?’
‘Amusing myself—comme vous voyez; and you?’
‘Oh, doing the same.’
They had shaken hands, and were sauntering on together.
‘Anything wrong with your health?’ Fanny asked, scrutinising the pale thin face, with its touch of warmth on the cheeks.
‘Oh, I’ve had a bit of a cold; nothing to speak of. You been out of sorts?’
‘A little run down. Over-study, they say.’
Horace looked his surprise.