“What is he going to see me about, Arthur?”
“I don't know at all. You are in Mr. Travers' hands.”
He was about to rise; but Fan, coming quickly to his side, stopped him.
“Good-bye, Arthur—my darling brother,” she said, stooping and kissing him quickly on his cheek, then on his lips. “May I take one thing away with me?”
“Your picture? Yes; you may take it if you like: that is to say, you may keep it for a time. I shall not give it to you.”
“But it is mine—my own portrait,” said Fan, with a happy laugh. “Though I do not know by what magic you got it.”
“That's easily explained. When I heard where you had had your photo taken, I went and ordered a copy for myself. The negative had been preserved. Then I had it enlarged, and the water-colour taken from it. And there are your books, Fan—take them too.”
“I will take one, Arthur; I was just reading it when—” She did not finish the sentence, but began hastily untying the parcel to get the book, while her brother rang the bell, and ordered a cab “for Miss Eden.”
How strange—how sweet it sounded to her!
“Is that my name, Arthur?” she asked, turning to him with a look of glad surprise.