She looked at him for a moment, puzzled, and then she said, with a quiet smile,—
'Oh, but I'm not Nan. I see you have forgotten me. I'm Madge.'
CHAPTER XII.
NEW POSSIBILITIES.
'Many people have told me I am very like what Nan used to be,' continued Miss Madge, pleasantly. 'And there is a photograph of her——. Let me see, where is it?'
She went to a table and opened an album, his eyes following her with wonder and a vague bewildered delight. For this was a new acquisition to the world—another Nan, a Nan free from all hateful ties, a Nan not engaged to be married. Presently she returned with a card in her hand.
'It was taken at Rome the time Nan went to Italy. That's more than three years now. I think myself it is like me, though it is rather too young for me.'
It was indeed remarkably like this Madge who now stood beside him. But yet sure enough it was Nan—the Nan that he remembered walking about the brilliant hot gardens at Bellagio. Here she was standing at a table, her head bent down, her hand placed on an open book. It was a pretty attitude, but it hid Nan's eyes.
'Yes, it would do capitally as a portrait of you,' he said quickly; 'no wonder I was mistaken. And your sister Edith, has she grown up to be like your eldest sister in the same way?'
'Oh no; Edith never was like the rest of us. Edith is dark, you know.'