A silence fell upon them for a little moment and they assayed each other shyly, he keenly aware of the fuller curves which had made a woman of her, she searching rather for reminders of the youth whose image had gone back with her through the gatehouse into bondage. He was more grave, as became a man now looking back upon his golden twenties, with thoughtful lines about the eyes, and a clearer demarcation of the jaw, which was, as of old, shaven, and pale with the pallor of a dweller in cities. The mouth was the mouth of the youth, sensitive, unspoiled; and the direct eyes had lost nothing of their friendliness, though she divined that he weighed her, questioning what manner of woman she had become. "You went back," he broke the pause, "you went back to that inferno because of what I said. You saw it through. Plucky Jack!" "Jean," she corrected. "Why?" "Jack was another girl, a girl I hope I've outgrown." "Don't say that," he protested. "I knew her. But this Jean of the staircase--" "Well?" she challenged, avid for his mature opinion. "Makes me wonder," he completed, "whether I've not been outgrown, too." It was not a satisfying answer. She remembered that growth may be other than benign. "You!" she said. "Why not? I was young, preposterously young. Had I been older, I should never have dared meddle with your life." "Meddle!" she repeated, his self-reproach rang so true; "you gave me the wisest advice such a girl could receive. That girl could not appreciate how wise it was, but this one does and thanks you from the bottom of her heart." Atwood drew a long breath. "You can say that!" he exclaimed. "You knew what it meant to return; I did not. Since I have realized the truth, the thought of my folly has given me no peace. I imagined--God knows what I haven't imagined! To see you here, as you are; to have you thank me, when I thought I deserved your undying hate, is like a reprieve." Jean's face went radiant. "Yet you say you knew her!" Their eyes met an instant; then they laughed together happily. "You're right," he acknowledged. "It seems I don't know either of you. But we can't talk here, can we? We need--" He paused, then, "Give me this day," he entreated. "We're not strangers. Say you will!"