For a moment as Madeline came toward him he hardly recognized her.  She looked years older.  The brilliancy of her beauty was curiously dimmed as an electric light might be dimmed inside a dusty globe.  There were hard lines about her full lips and a sharp, driven look in her black eyes.  The two had met in June on equal terms of blithe youth.  Now, only a few months later, Ted was still a careless boy but Madeline Taylor had been forced into premature womanhood and wore on her haggard young face, the stamp of a woman’s hard won wisdom.

To the girl Ted Holiday appeared more the bonny Prince Charming than ever only infinitely farther removed from her than he had seemed in those happy summer days which were a million years ago to all intents and purposes now.  How good looking he was—­how tall and clean and manly looking!  Her heart gave a quick jump seeing him again after all these dreary months.  But oh, she must be very careful—­must never forget for a moment that things were very, very different now from what they were in June!

There was a moment’s slightly embarrassed silence as they shook hands.  Both were remembering all too vividly the scene in Cousin Emma’s garden upon the occasion of their last meeting.  It was Ted who first found tongue and announced casually that he was going to take her straight to the house of Mrs. Bascom, her landlady to be.

“She’s a good sort,” he added.  “Mothery like you know.  You’ll like her.”

Madeline did not answer.  She couldn’t.  Something choked in her throat.  The phrase, “mothery like” was almost too much for the girl who had never had a mother to remember and wanted one now as she never had wanted one in her life.  Ted’s kindness—­the first she had received from any one these many days—­touched her deeply.  For the first time in months the tears brimmed up into her eyes as she followed her companion to the cab and let him help her in.  As the door closed upon them Ted turned and faced the girl and seeing the tears put out his hand and touched hers gently.

“Don’t worry, Madeline,” he said.  “Things are going to look up.  And please don’t cry,” he pleaded earnestly.

She wiped away the tears and summoned a wan little smile to meet his.

“I won’t,” she said.  “Crying is silly and won’t help anything.  It is just that I was awfully tired and your being so good to me upset me.  You’ve always been good even—­when I thought you weren’t.  I understand better now.  And oh, Ted, you don’t know how ashamed I am of the way I behaved that night!  It was awful—­my striking you like that.  It made me sick to think of it afterward.”

“It needn’t have.  If anybody has any call to be ashamed of that night it’s yours truly.  See here, Madeline, I’ve worried a lot about you though maybe you won’t believe it because I didn’t write or act as if I were sorry about things.  I kept still because it seemed the straightest thing to do all round, but I did think a great deal about you, honest I did, and I’ve wondered millions of times if my darn-foolness set things going wrong for you.  Did it, Madeline?” he demanded.