"She was charmingly healthy and robust--athletic, you know, and all
that--with light fluffy hair. I believe she used to wear it in a net.
Blue eyes, of course--thoroughly English, you know--and a fine comrade.
Liked everything that I liked, as most girls at that age didn't,
naturally. Of course, mother couldn't appreciate her. She wasn't her
style at all. And she naturally thought--mother did, I mean--that when
she sent me away 'for my health'"--the Boy smiled--"that I'd forget all
about her."

Verdayne began to think he wasn't telling it well after all. He looked
out of the window. It was getting hard to meet the frank look in the
Boy's blue eyes.

"Forget!" and there was a fine scorn in the tones of the young
enthusiast. "But you didn't! you didn't! I'm sure you didn't!"

The romantic story appealed strongly to the Boy's mood.

"But why didn't you marry her when you came back, Father Paul? Did she
die?"

"No, she didn't die. She is still living, I believe."

"Then why didn't you marry her, Father Paul? Did they still oppose it?
Surely when you came home and they saw you had not forgotten, it was
different. Tell me how it was when you came home."

And Paul Verdayne, in a voice he tried his best to make very sad and
heart-broken, replied with downcast eyes, "When I came home, Boy, I
found Isabella Waring ready to marry a curate, and happy over the