At the same time, he never wished to be alone with Madge, as is the habit of lovers. Nor if he was suddenly interested in anything did he naturally turn to her, and call her attention. On the other hand, the little social circle did not seem complete when Nan, with her grave humour, and her quiet smile, and her gentle, kindly ways, was absent. When she came into the room, then satisfaction and rest were in the very air. If there was a brighter green on the sea, where a gleam of wintry sunshine struck the roughened waters, whose eyes but Nan's could see that properly? It was she whom he addressed on all occasions; perhaps unwittingly. It seemed so easy to talk to Nan. For the rest, he shut his eyes to other considerations. From the strange fascination and delight that house in Brunswick Terrace always had for him, he knew he must be in love with somebody there; and who could that be but Madge Beresford, seeing that he was engaged to her?
Unhappily for poor Madge, Frank King was now called home by the old people at Kingscourt; and for a time, at least, all correspondence between him and his betrothed would obviously have to be by letter. Madge was in great straits. A look, a smile, a touch of the fingers may make up for lack of ideas; but letter-writing peremptorily demands them, of some kind or another. As usual, Madge came to her elder sister.
'Oh, Nan, I do so hate letter-writing. I promised to write every morning. I don't know what in the world to say. It is such a nuisance.'
Nan was silent; of late she had tried to withdraw as much as possible from these confidences of her sister's; but not very successfully. Madge clung to her. Lady Beresford would not be bothered. Edith was busy with her own affairs. But Nan—old Mother Nan—who had nothing to think of but other people, might as well begin and play the old maid at once, and give counsel in these distressing affairs.
'I wish you would tell me what to say,' continued Madge, quite coolly.
'I? Oh, I cannot,' said Nan, almost shuddering, and turning away.
'But you know what interests him; for he's always talking to you,' persisted Madge, good-naturedly. 'Anybody but me would be jealous; but I'm not. The day before yesterday Mrs. —— went by; and I asked him to look at her hair, that every one is raving about; and he plainly told me your hair was the prettiest he had ever seen. Now, I don't call that polite. He might have said "except yours," if only for the look of the thing. But I don't mind—not a bit I'm very glad he likes you, Nan——'
'Madge! Madge!'
It was almost a cry wrung from the heart. But in an instant she had controlled herself again. She turned to her sister, and said with great apparent calmness,
'Surely, dear, you ought to know what to write. These are things that cannot be advised about. Letters of that kind are secret——'