Fan gave her a card, and then, left alone, sat down and began eagerly studying the well-remembered room. There were ferns and blossoming plants in large blue pots about the room, and some pictures, and a few chairs and knick-knacks she had never seen, and a new Persian carpet on the floor; but everything else was unchanged. The grand piano was in the old place, open, with loose sheets of music lying on it, just as if Mary herself had been there practising an hour before. She was sitting with her back to the door, and did not hear it open. The slight rustling sound of a dress caught her ear, and turning quickly, she beheld Mary herself standing before her. It might have been only yesterday that Mary had spoken those cruel-kind words and left her in tears at Eyethorne. For there was no change in her--in that strong beautiful face, the raven hair and full dark eyes, the proud, sweet mouth--which Foley might have had for a model when he chiselled his “Asia”--and that red colour on her cheeks, richer and softer than ever burned on sea-shell or flower. The instant that Fan turned she recognised her visitor, and remained standing motionless, holding the girl's card in her hand, her face showing the most utter astonishment. If a visitor from the other world had appeared to her she could not have looked more astonished. Meanwhile Fan, forgetting everything else in the joy of seeing Mary again, had started to her feet, and with a glad cry and outstretched arms moved towards her. Then the other regained possession of her faculties; she dropped her hand to her side, the colour forsook her face, and it grew cold and hard as stone, while the old black look came to her brows. “Pray resume your seat, Miss Paradise--I beg your pardon, Miss----” here she consulted the card--“Miss Eden,” she finished, her lips curling. “Oh, I forgot about the card,” exclaimed Fan deeply distressed. “You are vexed with me because--because it looks as if I wished to take you by surprise. Will you let me explain about my change of name?” “You need not take that trouble, Miss--Eden. I have not the slightest interest in the subject. I only desire to know the object of this visit.” “My object was only to--to see the inside of the house again. I did not know that you were living here now. I had invented an excuse for calling. But if I had know you were here--oh, if you knew how I have wished to see you!” “I do not wish to know anything about it, Miss Eden. Have you so completely forgotten the circumstances which led to our parting, and the words I wrote to you on that occasion?” “No, I have not forgotten,” said Fan despairingly; “but when I saw you I thought--I hoped that the past would not be remembered--that you would be glad to see me again.” “Then you made a great mistake, Miss Eden; and I hope this interview will serve to convince you, if you did not know it before, that I am not one to change, that I never repent of what I do, or fail to be as good as my word.”