"How you have grown!" he said, gazing at her with admiration. "Somehow, I always thought of you as a little girl--a very pretty little girl." She thought of what his son had said at their meeting at the ball. "But you know one must grow some, and it has been eleven years since then. Think how long that has been!" "Eleven years! Does that appear so long to you?" said the old man, smiling. "So it is in our youth. Gordon wrote me of his meeting you and of how you had changed." I wonder what he meant by that, said Lois to herself, the color mounting to her cheek. "He thought I had changed, did he?" she asked tentatively, after a moment, a trace of grimness stealing into her face, where it lay like a little cloud in May. "Yes; he hardly knew you. You see, he did not have the greeting that I got." "I should think not!" exclaimed Lois. "If he had, I don't know what he might have thought!" She grew as grave as she could. "He said you were the sweetest and prettiest girl there, and that all the beauty of New York was there, even the beautiful Mrs.--what is her name? She was Miss Yorke." Lois's face relaxed suddenly with an effect of sunshine breaking through a cloud. "Did he say that?" she exclaimed. "He did, and more. He is a young man of some discernment," observed the old fellow, with a chuckle of gratification. "Oh, but he was only blinding you. He is in love with Mrs. Lancaster." "Not he." But Lois protested guilefully that he was. A little later she asked the General: "Did you ever hear of any one in New Leeds who was named Terpsichore?" "Terpsichore? Of course. Every one knows her there. I never saw her until she became a nurse, when she was nursing my son. She saved his life, you know?" "Saved his life!" Her face had grown almost grim. "No, I never heard of it. Tell me about it." "Saved his life twice, indeed," said the old General. "She has had a sad past, but she is a noble woman." And unheeding Lois's little sniff, he told the whole story of Terpsichore, and the brave part she had played. Spurred on by his feeling, he told it well, no less than did he the part that Keith had played. When he was through, there had been tears in Lois's eyes, and her bosom was still heaving. "Thank you," she said simply, and the rest of the drive was in silence. When General Keith left Brookford he was almost as much in love with his young hostess as his son could have been, and all the rest of his journey he was dreaming of what life might become if Gordon and she would but take a fancy to each other, and once more return to the old place. It would be like turning back the years and reversing the consequences of the war. * * * * * The General, on his arrival in New York, was full of his visit to Brookford and of Lois. "There is a girl after my own heart," he declared to Gordon, with enthusiasm. "Why don't you go down there and get that girl?"