seems so to me, but it is not for a life-long dweller in any
place to judge of change. It is for the one who goes and returns
after many years."

There was a faint hint of proud sadness in Eudora's voice as she
spoke the last two words.

"It has been many years," said Lawton, gravely, "and I wonder if
it has seemed so to you."

Eudora held her head proudly. "Time passes swiftly," said she,
tritely.

"But sometimes it may seem long in the passing, however swift,"
said Lawton, "though I suppose it has not to you. You look just
the same," he added, regarding her admiringly.

Eudora flushed a little. "I must be changed," she murmured.

"Not a bit. I would have known you anywhere. But I--"

"I knew you the minute you spoke."

"Did you?" he asked, eagerly. "I was afraid I had grown so stout
you would not remember me at all. Queer how a man will grow
stout. I am not such a big eater, either, and I have worked
hard, and--well, I might have been worse off, but I must say I
have seen men who seemed to me happier, though I have made the
best of things. I always did despise a flunk. But you! I heard
you had adopted a baby," he said, with a sudden glance at the