But Nan, who was very anxious, and on that account unusually sensitive, seemed to detect something strange in Frank King's manner. He had nothing of the gay audacity of an accepted suitor. When he paid Madge any little attention, it appeared almost an effort. He was preoccupied and thoughtful; sometimes, after regarding Madge in silence, he would apparently wake up to the consciousness that he ought to be more attentive to her; but there did not seem to be much joyousness in their relationship. When these two happened to be together--during the morning stroll down the pier, or on the way home from church, or seated at a concert--they did not seem to have many things to speak about Frank King grew more and more grave; and Nan saw it, and wondered, and quite failed to guess at the reason. The fact was that he had now discovered what terrible mistake he had made. He could blind himself no longer. Madge was not Nan; nor anything approaching to Nan; they were as different as day and night. Face to face with this discovery, he asked himself what he ought to do. Clearly, if he had made a mistake, it was his first duty that no one else should suffer by it. Because he was disappointed in not finding in Madge certain qualities and characteristics he had expected to find, he was not going to withdraw from an engagement he had voluntarily entered into. It was not Madge's fault. If the prospect of this marriage pleased her, he was bound to fulfil his promise. After all, Madge had her own qualities. Might they not wear as well through the rough work of the world, even if they had not for him the fascination he had hoped for? In any case, the disappointment should be his, not hers. She should not suffer any slight. And then he would make another desperate resolve to be very affectionate and attentive to her; resolves which usually ended in his carrying to her some little present of flowers, or something like that, having presented which, he would turn and talk to Nan. 'I say, Beresford,' he suddenly observed, one night at dinner, 'I have an invitation to go salmon-fishing in Ireland. Will you come?' 'Well, but----' Madge interposed with an injured air, as if she ought to have been consulted first. 'I should like it tremendously!' said Mr. Tom, with a rush. 'I am told the scenery in the neighbourhood is very fine,' continued Captain King; 'at all events we are sure to think so half a dozen years hence. That is one of the grand points about one's memory; you forget all the trivial details and discomforts, and only remember the best.' He quite naturally turned to Nan. 'I am sure, Miss Nan,' he said, 'you have quite a series of beautiful little pictures in your mind about that Splugen excursion. Don't you remember the drive along the Via Mala, in the shut-up carriage--the darkness outside--and the swish of the rain----'