One afternoon in January, while Carolyn was in her own room, her furs still on, for she had just come in from a walk, a servant brought her a card. As she read "Lord Maxwell" on the pasteboard, her face changed. She hesitated an instant, then she said, "I will go down." The gentleman was standing by the hearth; a thick yellow beard covered his chin, and this change so improved his appearance that Carolyn was surprised almost into doubting his identity. "It's so good of you to see me," he began, "so awfully good, you know." She held out her hand. She was trying not to be agitated. It seemed to her that she was very weak because at sight of this Englishman her pulses began to flutter. She sat down on one side of the hearth; he continued standing. He laughed slightly, and said he believed he was getting nervous; he'd rather stand; no, on the whole he'd sit. So he sat down also. "I say, Miss Ffolliott," he spoke hurriedly, "I hope you'll pardon me for calling, you know. I was going to be in town, and I hunted up your address. Is--is your cousin, Miss Prudence, with you?" "No." Carolyn found it at first a simple impossibility to add more. The very strength of her wish to give the information concerning her cousin in a matter-of-fact way prevented her from doing so. Lord Maxwell leaned forward with his hands on his knees. His large, prominent eyes were fixed on the fire. "You were anxious about Lady Maxwell when I saw you last," now said Carolyn. "Yes; I remember. She died; yes, she died, you know." The gentleman sat up straight. "We did everything we could, but it wasn't any use. I didn't feel like going back to England. Her mother went. I've been out to the Rockies; been hunting no end,--big game, you know; but, somehow, I didn't care much. My wife was a good woman, Miss Ffolliott." Carolyn made an inarticulate murmur in response. "Yes," he went on, "I came right here. Thought I'd call and see old friends, you know. Made sure you could tell me where Miss Prudence Ffolliott is. Can you?" "No." And again the girl found it almost impossible to go on. But this time she did continue: "Prudence married Mr. Rodney Lawrence, Lord Maxwell. They never came back that night. I wonder you had not heard?" The young man rose to his feet, but immediately sat down again. His face grew red, and then pale. He opened his lips to speak, and presently said, "Haven't seen a paper; haven't heard any news. By Jove!" The exclamation came harshly,--so harshly that he immediately begged pardon. He sat gazing intently into the fire. It was really painful to witness his struggle towards composure. As for Carolyn, she was wondering now at her own calmness. She was thinking, "He loves her, too."