'And a very good notion too,' said Tom, who would allow no one to say anything against Nan.
But then came that fateful letter from Frank King. It arrived on a January morning—on a clear and brilliant forenoon, just as Nan and her younger sister were going out for a walk, tempted by the sunlight and the colours of the sea. Madge herself took it from the postman at the door; glanced at the address, hastily opened the envelope, and guessed at, rather than read, the contents.
'Oh, Nan,' she said hurriedly, 'wait a moment. There is something—something I want to speak to you about—come into the dining-room—oh, do you know what this is, Nan?—Captain King has written.'
'Yes, dear,' said Nan, calmly and kindly, as she followed her into the empty dining-room.
'I must not show you the letter, must I?' said the younger sister, eagerly, though she was herself still reading and re-reading it. 'But you know what it is, Nan. And I must send an answer—oh, dear, what shall I do?'
'You ought to know, Madge,' her sister said. 'You were not unprepared, surely. I thought you expected it. I thought you would have had your mind made up.'
'But it is so dreadful—so sudden—so terrible! Look at my hands—I am all shaking. Oh, Nan, what would you do—what would you do if you were me?'
Nan seemed to be thinking of something far away; it was after a second that she recalled herself to this question, and then she answered with some astonishment—
'Don't you know your own mind, Madge?'
'Well, I do in a way,' said the younger sister, still staring at the letter. 'I like him well enough. I think it would do very well; and there would be no trouble with any one. I am sorry for that poor fellow Hanbury; but what is the use of his hanging about, and keeping one nervous? There is no use in it all—nothing but bother. And I know Captain King is very fond of me, and I think he would be very kind; and you know he is not going to sea again. And mamma would be pleased. Do you think I should go to her now?'