"Mr. Talbot hardly needs an introduction here, for his name is well-known among us, though this is perhaps his first visit to England?" she said, flattering herself that this artful speech would entrap him into the reply she wanted. With a slight frown, as if the allusion to his adventure rather annoyed him, and a smile that puzzled all but Lillian, he answered very simply, "It is not my first visit to this hospitable island. I was here a few years ago, for a short time, and left with regret." "Then you have old friends here?" And Lillian watched him as she spoke. "I had. They had doubtless forgotten me now," he said, with a sudden shadow marring the tranquillity of his face. "Why doubt them? If they were true friends, they will not forget." The words were uttered impulsively, almost warmly, but Talbot made no response, except a polite inclination and an abrupt change in the conversation. "That remains to be proved. Do you sing, Miss Trevlyn?" "A little." And Lillian's tone was both cold and proud. "A great deal, and very charmingly," added Maud, who took pride in her friend's gifts both of voice and beauty. "Come, dear, there are so few of us you will sing, I know. Mamma desired me to ask you when Edith had done." To her surprise Lillian complied, and allowed Talbot to lead her to the instrument. Still hoping to win some sign of recognition from him, the girl chose an air he taught her and sang it with a spirit and skill that surprised the listeners who possessed no key to her mood. At the last verse her voice suddenly faltered, but Talbot took up the song and carried her safely through it with his well-tuned voice. "You know the air then?" she said in a low tone, as a hum of commendation followed the music. "All Italians sing it, though few do it like yourself," he answered quietly, restoring the fan he had held while standing beside her. Provoking boy! why won't he know me? thought Lillian. And her tone was almost petulant as she refused to sing again. Talbot offered his arm and led her to a seat, behind which stood a little statuette of a child holding a fawn by a daisy chain. "Pretty, isn't it?" she said, as he paused to look at it instead of taking the chair before her. "I used to enjoy modeling tiny deer and hinds in wax, as well as making daisy chains. Is sculpture among the many accomplishments which rumor tells us you possess?" "No. Those who, like me, have their own fortunes to mold find time for little else," he answered gravely, still examining the marble group.