"Why should he visit us?" asked Beatrice.
"Ahem! as a suitor for your hand, in compliance with his father's wish."
"Ivar had better not insult me by such an offer."
"An offer of marriage can scarcely be called an insult, Trixie."
"It would be—from him," returned Beatrice with a heightened colour. "I speak what I know," she added oracularly.
She began to pour out the coffee: while Godfrey, somewhat puzzled by her words, turned to the letters awaiting him. No sooner had he glanced at the handwriting on the envelope of the first than he gave a great start.
"Heavens! have the dead returned to life?"
He hastily broke the seal and ran his eye over the letter, while the mystified Beatrice awaited the explanation of his words.
"From my old college-friend, Idris Marville."
"What?" cried Beatrice with a little scream of surprise. "Is he not dead, then? Did he escape the fire?"