"Am I late? Oh, I hope I am not late!" exclaimed Nan, springing up in a moment. She dressed herself in quite a flurry, for fear she should keep any one waiting. It was only at the last moment she remembered the outburst of the previous night, and wondered with some dismay what Dick would think of her pale cheeks and the reddened lines round her eyes, and only hoped that he would not attribute them to his going away. Nan was only just in time, for as she entered the breakfast-room Dick came through the veranda and put in his head at the window. "Not at breakfast yet? and where are the others?" he asked in some surprise, for the Challoners were early people, and very regular in their habits. "We sat up rather late last night, talking," returned Nan, giving him her hand without looking at him, and yet Dick showed to advantage this morning in his new tweed travelling suit. "Well, I have only got ten minutes. I managed to give the pater the slip: he will be coming after me, I believe, if I stay longer. This is first-rate, having you all to myself this last morning. But what's up, Nan? you don't seem quite up to the mark. You are palish, you know, and----" here Dick paused in pained embarrassment. Were those traces of tears? had Nan really been crying? was she sorry about his going away? And now there was an odd lump in Dick's throat. Nan understood the pause and got frightened. "It is nothing. I have a slight headache; there was a little domestic worry that wanted putting to right," stammered Nan; "it worried me, for I am stupid at such things, you know." She was explaining herself somewhat lamely, and to no purpose, for Dick did not believe her in the least. "Domestic worry!" as though she cared for such rubbish as that; as though any amount could make her cry,--her, his bright, high spirited Nan! No; she had been fretting about their long separation, and his father's unkindness, and the difficulties ahead of them. "I want you to give me a rose," he said, suddenly, _a propos_ of nothing, as it seemed; but looking up, Nan caught a wistful gleam in his eyes, and hesitated. Was it not Dick who had told her that anecdote about the queen, or was it Lothair? and did not a certain meaning attach to this gift? Dick was forever picking roses for her; but he had never given her one, except with that meaning look on his face. "You are hesitating," he said, reproachfully; "and on my last morning, when we shall not see each other for months;" And Nan moved towards the veranda slowly, and gathered a crimson one without a word, and put it in his hand.