Meantime Daphne with fine courage went about among the guests, as if nothing unusual were happening. Presently she came up to me. "Come and talk to me," she said. "It is so long since I saw you. I am sure you must have much to tell me." One of the bridesmaids made room for her upon an ottoman, and I drew a chair near her. The language of love was all but trembling on my lips as I gazed at her beautiful face--that face so associated with my life from very childhood that it seemed to belong to me by a sort of prescriptive right. It was well that others were by to check my ardour; but for their presence I believe I should have been kneeling once more at her feet. I had come back from Heidelberg with the intention of treating her with a frigid and distant courtesy--I would be an heroic martyr! But one glance of her gentle eyes had melted my icy armour, and here I was almost on the point of making love to her on the very morning of her intended marriage to another! Daphne was her old sweet self, and chatted as freely as if we two were alone, and sitting once more at breakfast in my uncle's old home. "You are looking very pale, Frank," she said. "When did you leave the Fatherland?" "I left Heidelberg two days ago, and crossed the Channel last night. But tell me about George." It made me jealous to see how bright her eyes became at the mention of my brother's name. "I suppose the Indian sun hasn't made much difference in his appearance? How does he look?" "He is very, very bronzed, and much handsomer, in my opinion, and--and--but there, you'll see him this morning in his uniform, and you'll confess he looks every inch a hero." I had seen him that morning, though not in his uniform, with a red stain on his breast, trembling at sight of me, and I was very far from confessing that he looked every inch a hero; but, of course, I did not tell Daphne this. "Where are you going to spend your honeymoon?" "At Sydenham. A friend has lent us a pretty little villa there." "And from there you are going----" "To India? Yes. In February. Papa wants George to leave the army now, but I don't think he will." "George is ambitious, you see," I returned, resenting in him that quality which was lacking in myself. "Medals, stars, titles, etc. Perhaps some day they'll make him a baronet--if he do but kill men enough, you know--and then you'll be Lady Willard. Ahem! I salute you Lady Willard, _in futuro_," I added with a low bow. "Frank, don't be ridiculous! Mr. Vasari is watching you." "Never mind Mr. Vasari! who's he! Let him watch. We are doing nothing wrong. Hang the fellow! How he stares! Vasari," I said, repeating the artist's patronymic--"an Italian evidently: and as an artist a dead failure, if I may judge by his own remarks."