“I think it must be the reflection from your roses there, you extravagant fellow,” she replied, laughing.

“That’s famous, Madge.  If you will laugh again like that I’ll send you a present from Paris.  Dear Madge, do get well.  Don’t let us have anything dismal in our parting.  It’s only for a little while, you know.  When I come back it will be summer, and I’ll take you to the seashore or mountains or somewhere, and help you get well.”

“You are very kind, Graydon.  You have been a true brother to me from the time you tried to cheer and encourage the pale, frightened little girl that sat opposite you at the dinner-table.  Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I do.  It seemed so droll to me that you were afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of.”

“My fear was natural.  Little as I know of the world, I know that—­at least for one like me.  It may seem weak and silly to you, but, brought up as I had been, I was morbidly sensitive.  You might have meant to be kind and sympathetic and all that, and yet have hurt me cruelly.  I have been out with you enough to know how I am regarded.  I don’t complain.  I suppose it is the way of the world, but it has not been your way.  You have brought sunshine from the first, not from a sense of duty, not out of sheer humiliating pity, but because it was the impulse of your strength to help and cheer one who was so weak, and if—­if—­anything—­Well, I want you to know before you go away that I appreciate it all and shall never forget it.”

“Oh, come, Madge, don’t talk so dismally.  What do you mean by ‘if—­if—­anything’?  You are going to get strong and well, and we will open the campaign together next fall.”

She shook her head, but asked, lightly, “How will Miss Wildmere endure your absence?”

“Easier than you, I imagine.  She knows how to console herself.  Still, as my little sister, I will tell you in confidence that she was very kind in our parting interview.  How much her kindness meant only she herself knows, and I’ve been in society long enough to know that it may mean very little.”

“Are you so wholly bent upon winning her, Graydon?”

“Oh, you little Mother Eve!  You are surely going to get well.  There is no sign of longevity in a woman so certain as curiosity.  I’ve not yet reached the point of breaking my heart about her, whatever she does.  Wouldn’t you like so beautiful a creature for your sister?”

“The contrast would be too great.  I should indeed seem a ghost beside her.  Still, if she would make you happy—­” But she could go no further.

“Well, well, that’s a very uncertain problem of the future.  Don’t say anything about it at home.  My brother don’t like her father.  They do not get on well in business.  Let us talk about yourself.  What are you going to do while I am gone?”

“What can such a shadow as I do?  Tell me rather what you are going to do, and where you’ll be.  You are real, and what you do amounts to something.”