entering the room at this moment was to ask Hilliard whether he had
a likeness of himself which he could spare her, as a memento.

"I'm sorry I don't possess such a thing," he answered, laughing,
surprised that the woman should care enough about him to make the
request. "But, talking of photographs, would you tell me who this
is?"

The album lay beside him, and a feeling of embarrassment, as he saw
Mrs. Brewer's look rest upon it, impelled him to the decisive
question.

"That? Oh! that's a friend of my daughter Martha's--Eve Madeley. I
m sure I don't wonder at you noticing her. But it doesn't do her
justice; she's better looking than that. It was took better than two
years ago--why, just before you came to me, Mr. Hilliard. She was
going away--to London."

"Eve Madeley." He repeated the name to himself, and liked it.

"She's had a deal of trouble, poor thing," pursued the landlady. "We
was sorry to lose sight of her, but glad, I'm sure, that she went
away to do better for herself. She hasn't been home since then, and
we don't hear of her coming, and I'm sure nobody can be surprised.
But our Martha heard from her not so long ago--why, it was about
Christmas-time."

"Is she"--he was about to add, "in service?" but could not voice
the words. "She has an engagement in London?"