“I will.  Friends should be reasonably frank.  What’s more, I wish to show you how natural and probable the result, as you call it, has been.  Your wondering perplexity vexes me.  You know what I was when we parted.”

“No, I don’t believe I do, or you couldn’t be what you are now.”

“Well, I can tell you:  I had weak lungs, a weak body, and a weak, uncultured mind.  I was weak in all respects, but I discovered that I had a will, and I had sense enough, as Henry says, to know that if I was ever going to be more than a ghost it was time I set about it.  I knew of Mrs. Wayland’s restoration to health in the climate of Santa Barbara, and I determined to try it myself.  I couldn’t have had better friends or advantages than the place afforded.  But oh, Graydon, I was so weak and used up when I reached there that I could scarcely do more than breathe.  But I had made up my mind either to get well or to die.  I rested for days, until I could make a beginning, and then, one step at a time, as it were, I went forward.  Take two things that you have seen me do, for example.  One can bathe in the sea at Santa Barbara almost throughout the year.  At first I was as timid as a child, and scarcely dared to wet my feet; but Mr. Wayland was a sensible instructor, and led me step by step.  The water was usually still, and I gradually acquired the absolute confidence of one who can swim, and swims almost every day.  So with a horse.  I could hardly sit on one that was standing still, I was so weak and frightened; but with muscle and health came stronger nerves and higher courage.  After a few months I thought nothing of a ten-mile gallop on the beach or out to the canons.  I took up music in the same way, and had a thoroughly good teacher.  He did the best he could for me, which wasn’t so very much.  I never could become a scientist in anything, but I was determined to be no sham within my limitations.  I have tried to do some things as well as I could and let the rest go.  Now you see how easily I can explain myself, and I only seem wonderful because of contrast with what I was.”

“But where do I come in?” he asked, eagerly.

“Did you not say, ‘Please get well and strong?’ I thought it would gratify you and Mary and Henry.  You used to call me a ghost, and I did not want to be a ghost any longer.  I saw that you enjoyed your vigorous life fully, and felt that I might enjoy life also; and as I grew strong I did enjoy everything more and more.  Two things besides, and I can say, ‘All present or accounted for.’  Mr. Wayland is a student, and has a splendid library.  He coached me—­that was your old college jargon—­on books, and Mrs. Wayland coached me on society.  So here I am, weighing a hundred and twenty pounds, more or less, and ready for another gallop;” and away she went, the embodiment of beautiful life.

“One more question, Madge,” he said, as they slackened pace again.  “Why wouldn’t you write to me oftener?”