Lady Dunforth had herself been a beautiful American girl—Brownie Douglas by name—and she was always eager to entertain her countrywomen when they visited London. She had met Virgie at the Huntingtons, and had at once been attracted toward her, and had taken pains to secure her presence on her next evening at home, arranging for extra attractions for her sake. Mrs. Alexander was feeling unusually well on this night, and had taken a great deal of pains with her own and her daughter’s toilet. Virgie’s costume was exquisite, consisting of pale blue satin, with an overdress of misty lace, wrought with tiny crystals, and draped with clusters of blush-roses, while she wore strings of rare pearls on her neck and arms and in her hair. Mrs. Alexander wore simple black, but of richest material and finest texture, while her laces were exceptionally rare and her diamonds of the purest water. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. Her form was finely developed, and yet it had lost nothing of the graceful outline of her maidenhood. Her face possessed a peculiar delicacy of beauty, and her complexion was as faultless as of old. She had gained much in ease and self-possession; her bearing was regal, her manner charming. Lady Dunforth was even more delighted with her than she had been with Virgie, and took especial pains to present her to her most honored guests. It happened that Lady Linton and Lillian were also present that evening. Both were accomplished society women, and were much sought after, because of their tact and brilliancy, for there was never any lack of life, there was never any stiffness or awkwardness where they were. Lady Linton could entertain charmingly, and Lillian was always the center of a brilliant circle. But for once Lady Linton’s accomplishment in this direction failed her. As Lady Dunforth was presenting Mrs. Alexander to some of her guests, she suddenly came face to face with Sir William Heath’s sister. “Ah! Lady Linton,” said her hostess, in her genial way, “I have a friend here to whom I would like to introduce you; Mrs. Alexander—Lady Linton.” Her ladyship gave one glance into the beautiful face before her, and recognized it. She knew her instantly for the woman who had saved her life at the time of that frightful railroad disaster eight years previously; who had nursed her so faithfully during the illness that followed, and who had afterward told her, “I am the woman whom your brother loved—whom he wooed and won.” A deadly pallor overspread her countenance, while her customary elegant self-possession was utterly routed. She was actually stricken dumb—her lips refused to pronounce the name she had heard, in acknowledgment of the introduction; she could only stand still with her eyes fastened in a blank, startled stare upon that graceful figure, while her heart sank a dead weight in her bosom.