As these thoughts passed through his mind, they began to impart to his manner a tinge of gallantry, the beginning of a departure from his old fraternal and affectionate ways.  He was too well-bred to show pique openly, or to reveal a sense of injury during the first hours of reunion, but he already felt absolved from being very attentive to a girl who not only had proved so conclusively that she could manage admirably for herself, but who also had been so indifferent that she had not needed his sympathy in her efforts or thought it worth while to gladden him with a knowledge of her progress.  He had loved her as a sister, and had given ample proof of this.  He had maintained his affection for the Madge that he remembered.  “But I have been told,” he thought, bitterly, “that the young lady before me is a ‘friend.’  She has been a rather distant friend, if the logic of events counts for anything.  Not satisfied with the thousands of miles that separated us, she has also withheld her confidence in regard to changes that would have interested even a casual acquaintance.”

Madge soon detected the changing expression of his eyes, the lessening of simple, loving truth in his words, and while she was pained she feared that all this and more would necessarily result from the breaking up of their old relations.  Her task was a difficult one at best—­perhaps it was impossible—­nor had she set about it in calculating policy.  Their old relations could not be maintained on her part.  Even the touch of his hand had the mysterious power to send a thrill to her very heart.  Therefore she must surround herself at once with the viewless yet impassable barriers which a woman can interpose even by a glance.

As they rose, Graydon remarked, “I have helped you at supper, and yet one of my illusions has not vanished.  The air at Santa Barbara must have been very nourishing if your appetite was no better there than here.  Your strange ‘sea-change’ on that distant coast is still marvellous to me.”

“Mary can tell you how ravenous I usually am.  I do not meet friends every day from whom I have been separated so long.”

“It is a very ordinary thing for me to meet ‘friends,’” he replied, sotto voce, “for I have many.  I had hopes that I should meet one who would be far more than a friend.  I’m half inclined to go out to Santa Barbara and see if my little sister Madge is not still there.”

“Do you think me a fraud?”

“Oh, no, only so changed that I scarcely know how to get acquainted with you.”

“Even if I granted so much, which I do not, I might suggest that one must be uninteresting indeed if she inspires no desire for acquaintance.  But such talk is absurd between us, Graydon.”