“Why, miss, so you are!” exclaimed the woman astonished, and breaking out in smiles. “I never knew that Mr. Eden had a sister, but I might have guessed it when I saw you, for you are his very image. I'll just go up and ask him if he can see you.” Fan, in her impatience, followed her up into Eden's sitting-room on the first floor. At the further end of the room the woman rapped at the door. “What the devil do you want now? I told you not to disturb me,” was shouted in no amiable voice from inside. Fan hurried to the door and called through the keyhole, “Arthur, I must see you before you leave town.” “Oh, Fan, is that you? I really beg your pardon,” he replied. “All right; make yourself comfortable, and I'll be with you in five minutes.” Fan, left alone, began an inspection of her brother's “den,” about which she had often heard him speak, and the first object which took her attention was a brown-paper parcel lying on a chair against the wall. It was the parcel of novels she had returned to him a few days before, not yet opened. But when she looked round for that large collection of books, about which he had spoken to her, she found it not, nor anything in the way of literature except half a dozen volumes lying on the table, bearing Mudie's yellow labels on their covers. Near the chair on which the parcel was lying a large picture rested on the carpet, leaning against the wall. A sheet of tissue paper covered it, which her curiosity prompted her to remove, and then how great was her surprise at being confronted with her own portrait, exquisitely done in water-colours, half the size of life, and in a very beautiful silver frame. How it got there was a mystery, but not for one moment did she doubt that it was her own portrait; only it looked, she thought, so much more beautiful than the reality. She had never worn her hair in that picturesque way, nor had she ever possessed an evening dress; yet she appeared in a lovely pale-blue dress, her neck and arms bare, a delicate cream-coloured lace shawl on one arm resting on her shoulder. She was still standing before it, smiling with secret pleasure, and blushing a little, when Eden, coming in, surprised her. “I see you have made a discovery, Fan,” he said. She turned quickly round, the bright colour suffusing her cheeks, and held out her hand to him. He was pale and haggard, but the strange excited look had left his face, and he smiled pleasantly as he took her hand and touched her finger-tips to his lips. “Why did you come to me here?” he asked, beginning to move restlessly about the room. “To give you that assurance with my own lips you asked for--I could not let you go away without it. Will you not kiss me, Arthur?”