There was silence for some time between them, then Eden said, “Fan, what a strange girl you are! The whiteness of your soul is such that it has even pained me to think of it; and now that I have shown you all the blackness of my own, and am sick of it myself, you look very calmly at it, and even try to persuade me that it is not black at all. The one thing you have said which sounds artificial, and like a copy-book lesson, is that we all have good and bad in us. What is the bad in you, Fan--what evil does it tempt you to do?” This question seemed to disturb her greatly. “For one thing,” she said hesitatingly, and casting her eyes down, “I always hate those who injure me--and--and I am very unforgiving.” Then, raising her eyes, which looked as if the tears were near them, she added, “But, Arthur, please don't be offended with me if I say that I don't think you are right to put such a question to me--just now.” “No, dear, it isn't right. From me to you it is a brutal question, and I shall not offend again. But to hear you talk of your unforgiving temper gives me a strange sensation--a desire to laugh and cry all at the same time.” He looked at his watch. “I don't wish to drive you away, Fan, but poor Mr. Tytherleigh will be at his wits' end if he misses you.” “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. “Yes, until you change it; and, by the way, you had better order yourself some cards.”