“How wrong of me! But you have changed a good deal, too. You were only a boy in jackets then.” “And you were only a girl in short frocks.” They both laughed, and then Drake said, “I'm so glad we've changed together!” “Are you?” said Glory. “Why, yes,” said Drake; “for if you had changed and I hadn't----” “But what nonsense we're talking!” said Glory; and they both laughed again. Then they told each other what had happened in that infinite cycle of time which had spun round since they parted. Glory had not much to narrate; her life had been empty. She had been in the Isle of Man all along, had come to London only recently, and was now a probationer-nurse at Martha's Vineyard. Drake had gone to Harrow and thence to Oxford, and, being a man of artistic leanings, had wished to take up music, but his father had seen no career in it; so he had submitted--he had entered the subterranean catacombs of public life, and was secretary to one of the Ministers. All this he talked of lightly, as became a young man of the world to whom great things were of small account. “Glory,” said Polly, at her elbow, “the waltz is going to begin.” The band was preluding. Drake claimed the dance, and Glory was astonished to find that she had it free (she had kept it expressly). When the waltz was over he gave her his arm and led her into the circular corridor to talk and to cool. His manners were perfect, and his voice, so soft and yet so manly, increased the charm. In passing out of the hot dancing room she threw her handkerchief over her head, and, with the hand that was at liberty, held its ends under her chin. She wished him to look at her and see what change this had made; so she said, quite innocently: “And now let me look at you again, sir!” He recognised the dark-brown spot on her eye, and he could feel her arm through her thin print dress. “You've told me a good deal,” he said, “but you haven't said a syllable about the most important thing of all.” “And pray what is that?” said she. “How many times have you fallen in love since I saw you last?” “Good gracious, what a question!” said Glory. His audacity was delightful. There was something so gracious and yet so masterful about him. “Do you remember the day you carried me off--eloped with me, you know?” said Drake. “I? How charming of me! But when was that, I wonder?” said Glory. “Never mind; say, do you remember?” “Well, if I do? What a pair of little geese we must have been in those days!” “I'm not so sure of that--_now_,'” said he. “You didn't seem very keen about me _then_, as far as I can remember,” said she. “Didn't I?” said he. “What a silly young fool I must have been!” They laughed again. She could not keep her arm still, and he could almost feel its dimpled elbow. “And do _you_ remember the gentleman who rescued us?” she said. “You mean the tall, dark young man who kept hugging and kissing you in the yacht?” “Did he?” “Do you forget that kind of thing, then?”