“I am Mrs. Rolt, a very near neighbour. May I come in and see Mrs. Arthur, if she is at home?” said Cousin Julia. Her soft eyes were quite keen with curiosity. She glanced to the very background of the picture, the depth of the recess in which Nancy stood, with her pencils in her hand. Her figure looked taller than it was in the long clinging black gown; and the little close cap of transparent net on her head, looked like a piece of conventual costume; and she wore a jet cross at her neck, which increased this effect. Mrs. Rolt thought she was like the mysterious lady in a novel with an interesting secret. She looked at Nancy, though Matilda stood so much the nearest. “I don’t even know which is Mrs. Arthur,” she said, with one of her ingratiating smiles. Nancy came forward, laying down the pencils. She made a nondescript kind of salutation, half bow, half curtsey, to the stranger. It was awkward and shy, but it was not ungraceful. Matilda only smiled cordially, which answered the purpose quite as well, it must be allowed; but there was no likelihood that Matilda would ever be an ambassador’s wife, called upon by her duty to be solemnly civil to all the world. “I am so glad to make your acquaintance,” said Mrs. Rolt; “I daresay you see me sometimes, as I see you. I have often and often looked across; and I should have called, but I was afraid you might think I was intruding. However, being told yesterday--that is Miss Curtis, whom you are sure to have heard of, told me that I ought to come; and I was very glad to hear her say so. Have you met any of the Curtises, Mrs. Arthur? They are, as of course you know, the chief people here.” “I have met--one of the family; long ago;” said Nancy, trembling as she said it. But she could not restrain herself, for she suddenly felt that she must hear of Arthur or die. “Have you indeed? I wonder what one that would be. I should not wonder if it were Arthur--Arthur is the one that has been most in the world. And oh, such a sad fate for him, poor fellow! He married some common girl or other--I don’t mean to say anything against her character, you know; but she was not a lady. And after a while he had to separate from her. Such a sad business! and poor dear Arthur was the nicest boy, poor fellow! I suppose you must have met him in London. How interested poor dear Lady Curtis will be.” “Oh, don’t say I met him!” cried Nancy, whose cheeks were burning. “It--might not be the same; it might be a mistake. Was he--not happy--with his wife?” Matilda got behind Mrs. Rolt, and made a warning sign to her sister. Nancy’s eyes were blazing, her face suffused with crimson. Any spectator less placid and unobservant would have fathomed her secret at once.