“We hoped we should find you somewhere on our travels, for a familiar face makes the heart of the stranger glad, you know,” Star said. “I received a letter from Grace to-day, and she writes: ‘Be sure and hunt up Ralph, who is, without doubt, in London now.’ But who is that pretty young lady across the room with the blush-roses in her hair, and with whom I saw you talking as I came in?” Mr. Meredith flushed again at this; but his eyes kindled as he glanced over at Vivien, and replied: “Oh, that is an acquaintance that I have made since coming here. Come, and let me introduce you.” He purposely avoided mentioning her name, wishing to see how Star would receive the introduction. As he turned to lead the way to Vivien, she looked up at Mr. Rosevelt and smiled archly. He understood her, and gently patted the hand on his arm while he nodded his head, and said, dryly: “He’ll do, my young lady, never fear.” “Miss Sherbrooke, allow me to make you acquainted with Miss Gladstone, a friend from beyond the sea; also Mr. Rosevelt. Miss Gladstone, Mr. Rosevelt—Miss Sherbrooke.” Ralph Meredith watched Star closely while he introduced and she exchanged greetings with Archibald Sherbrooke’s sister; and although she might have appeared self-possessed enough to the casual observer, _he_ noticed the quick catching of her breath as she heard the familiar name, and remarked the flush which leaped into her hitherto pale cheeks, and which, although pain had caused it, enhanced her loveliness tenfold. “It is Archie’s sister,” Star said to herself, as their two white-gloved hands met, and a thrill of keenest pain shot through every nerve. “How lovely she is!” she added. “Her eyes are like his in their expression, although not in color. Oh! I should have loved her, I know; and how rashly I have thrown all my happiness away!” It needed all the power of her will to sustain her as she stood there beside Miss Sherbrooke, apparently so calm, and chatted with her for the next fifteen minutes; and Vivien never mistrusted the wild emotions which were surging in the heart of her new acquaintance, with whom she was exceedingly pleased. “How perfectly charming she is!” she thought, as for a moment Star turned to speak to Ralph, and she studied her face more closely. Then she started violently. Surely she had seen that face somewhere before—those great, earnest blue eyes—that white forehead gleaming through a golden mist—that straight, delicate nose, and those beautiful red lips. Yes, surely it was the face that her brother had painted when he was in America; only there was a look of pain in those eyes now that there had not been then; there were tense lines about the small, sweet mouth, and a seriousness about the whole countenance which told that the passing years since then had not been full of unalloyed pleasure.