And Fulvia, at the moment of being asked, did not recall association past, did not realise what Daisy meant, or to what "jewel-case" she alluded. If Daisy had called it a "dressing-case," she might have listened with quicker perception; but "jewel-case" was not one of Fulvia's words. She heard a request vaguely, and granted it, never thinking what the request meant. Her mind was wrapped up in the thought of having to leave Nigel for hours on his only free afternoon. More than this, she had no vivid recollection of the crumpled half-sheet hidden away in the old dressing-case. The matter of the four postscripts had sunk of late into the background. Since all cessation of intercourse with Mr. Carden-Cox nothing had occurred to call it up. Fulvia had reached a standpoint far removed from the hopes and fears of those days. The lost half-sheet was nothing to her now. She could not have told why it, remained still in her box, except that the all-absorbing events of the last few months had almost driven it out of her mind. Perhaps a dim expectation existed below of some day making a confession, and restoring the paper to its rightful owner. But not yet,—oh, not yet! Yes, she had reached a stand beyond those hopes and fears. Nigel was hers, and she was his. She had indeed her anxieties and dreads, but they were different in kind, and as yet the joy of devoting herself to him outweighed all troubles. In the main she did not, would not, doubt his love, though at times she was nervously disposed to weigh the amount of it against her own for him. Every one, who has watched with care, can tell how strangely things which were once of vivid importance may slip into the background of memory, unaccountably failing to spring up just when one would most expect that they should. Daisy's sudden question, called out in haste through the pouring rain, brought no recollections to Fulvia of the crumpled half-sheet. She was entirely absorbed with Mr. Carden-Cox's provoking unreasonableness in taking her from Nigel on this particular day. And oh, if Nigel had but cared more! That, after all, was the real pain! CHAPTER XXVI THE LOST "N.B." "A pen—to register: a key— That winds through secret wards: Are well assigned to memory By allegoric bards."—WORDSWORTH. "WHERE are you going to sit?" demanded Daisy of Nigel. "In the study for the present. Why?" "May I come too? I won't disturb you, or be a bother. Do let me." Nigel would have preferred an hour or two alone, but he hesitated to refuse, looking in Daisy's beseeching eyes. She was a very devoted younger sister, and had not had much of his company of late. "If you like," he replied. "But why?" "I'm going to do something that madre ought not to see; and anywhere else she might pounce down upon me." "Pounce" was not precisely the correct word for Mrs. Browning's slow and graceful movements; but girls of Daisy's age are not exact in their use of language.