"We have met before," said he, in embarrassed accents: "at Venice, I
think!"

Maltravers inclined his head rather stiffly at first, but then, as if
moved by a second impulse, held out his hand cordially.

"Oh, Mr. Ernest, here you are!" cried Sophy, bounding into the hall,
followed by Mr. Merton, the old admiral, Caroline, and Cecilia.

The interruption seemed welcome and opportune. The admiral, with blunt
cordiality, expressed his pleasure at being made known to Mr. Maltravers.

The conversation grew general; refreshments were proffered and declined;
the visit drew to its close.

It so happened that as the guests departed, Evelyn, from whose side the
constant colonel had insensibly melted away, lingered last,--save,
indeed, the admiral, who was discussing with Cleveland a new specific for
the gout. And as Maltravers stood on the steps, Evelyn turned to him
with all her beautiful _naivete_ of mingled timidity and kindness, and
said,--

"And are we really never to see you again; never to hear again your tales
of Egypt and Arabia; never to talk over Tasso and Dante? No books, no
talk, no disputes, no quarrels? What have we done? I thought we had
made it up,--and yet you are still unforgiving. Give me a good scold,
and be friends!"

"Friends! you have no friend more anxious, more devoted than I am.