They had been seated but a moment when Miss Wildmere entered alone.  To Graydon this appeared pathetic.  He did not know that her mother was so worn out from the journey, and so embarrassed by unaided efforts to get settled while still caring for her half-sick child, that she had decided to make a slight and hasty repast in her own room.  Miss Wildmere cared little for what took place behind the scenes, but was usually superb before the footlights.  Nothing could have been more charming or better calculated to win general good-will than her advance down the long room.  In external beauty she was more striking at first than Madge.  She did not in the least regret that she must enter alone, for she was not proud of her mother, and nothing drew attention from herself.  She assumed, however, a slight and charming trace of embarrassment and perplexity, which to Graydon was perfectly irresistible, and he mentally resolved that she should not much longer want a devoted escort.  Madge saw his glance of sympathy and strong admiration, his smile and low bow as she passed, ushered forward by the obsequious headwaiter, and her heart sank.  In spite of all she had attempted and achieved, the old cynical assurance came back to her—­“You are nothing to Graydon, and never can be anything to him.”  She was pale enough now, but her eyes burned with the resolution not to yield until all hope was slain.  She talked freely, and was most friendly toward Graydon, but there was a slight constraint in his manner.  The beautiful and self-possessed girl who sat opposite him was not little Madge whom it had been his pleasure to pet and humor.  She evidently no longer regarded herself as his sister, but rather as a charming young woman abundantly able to take care of herself.  She had indeed changed marvellously in more respects than one, and he felt aggrieved that he had been kept in ignorance of her progress.  He believed that she had grown away from him and the past, as well as grown up, according to her declaration.  He recalled her apparent disinclination for correspondence, and now thought it due to indifference, rather than an indolent shrinking from effort.  The surprise she had given him seemed a little thing—­an act due possibly to vanity—­compared with the sisterly accounts she might have written of her improvement.  She had achieved the wonder without aid from him, and so of course had not felt the need of his help in any way.  In remembrance of the past he felt that he had not deserved to be so ignored.  Her profession of friendship was all well enough—­there could scarcely be less than that—­but the Madge he had looked forward to meeting again as of old no longer existed.  Oh, yes, she should have admiration and exclamation points to her heart’s content, but he had come from his long exile hungry for something more and better than young lady friends.  He had long since had a surfeit of these semi-Platonic affinities.  The girl who apparently had been refusing scores of men for his sake was more to his taste.  His brother’s repugnance only irritated and incited him, and he thought, “I’ll carry out his business policy to the utmost, but away from the office I am my own man.”