village street with exactly such salutation, and now both
reverted to it. The tall, regal woman in her India shawl and the
stout, middle-aged man had both stepped back to their
vantage-ground of springtime to meet.

However, after a moment, Eudora reasserted herself. "I only
heard a short time ago that you were here," she said, in her
usual even voice. The fair oval of her face was as serene and
proud toward the man as the face of the moon.

The man swung his umbrella, then began prodding the ground with
it. "Hullo, Eudora," he said again; then he added: "How are you,
anyway? Fine and well?"

"I am very well, thank you," said Eudora. "So you have come home
to Wellwood after all this time?"

The man made an effort and recovered himself, although his
handsome face was burning.

"Yes," he remarked, with considerable ease and dignity, to which
he had a right, for Harry Lawton had not made a failure of his
life, even though it had not included Eudora and a fulfilled
dream.

"Yes," he continued, "I had some leisure; in fact, I have this
spring retired from business; and I thought I would have a look
at the old place. Very little changed I am happy to find it."

"Yes, it is very little changed," assented Eudora; "at least, it