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 the bell to inquire into the delay attending the service of lunch; but before this sentiment, rather idle under the circumstances, was gratified, Blanche passed into the room from a neighbouring apartment. To Bernard's perception, Blanche, at least, was always Blanche; she was a person in whom it would not have occurred to him to expect any puzzling variation, and the tone of her little soft thin voice instantly rang in his ear like an echo of yesterday's talk. He had remarked to himself before, that after however long an interval one might encounter Blanche, she reappeared with an air of familiarity. This was, in some sense, indeed, a proof of the agreeable impression she made, and she looked exceedingly pretty as she now suddenly stopped on seeing our two gentlemen, and gave a little cry of surprise.

"Ah! I didn't know you were here; they never told me. Have you been waiting a long time? How d'ye do? You must think we are polite." She held out her hand to Bernard, smiling very graciously. At Captain Lovelock she barely glanced. "I hope you are very well," she went on; "but I needn't ask that. You're as blooming as a rose. What in the world has happened to you? You look so brilliant—so fresh. Can you say that to a man—that he looks fresh? Or can you only say that about butter and eggs?"

"It depends upon the man," said Captain Lovelock. "You can't say that a man's fresh who spends his time in running about after you."

"Ah, are you here?" cried Blanche, with another little cry of surprise. "I didn't notice you—I thought you were the waiter. This is what he calls running about after me," she added to Bernard; "coming to breakfast without being asked. How queerly they have arranged the table!" she went on, gazing with her little elevated eyebrows at this piece of 202