Mavering found himself walking beside her, and admitting his surprise to be personal and direct. Presently he picked up his fluency. "I judge you would like to avoid reminiscence. In the interests of clarity and calm weather, however, allow me to say that I don't intend to bother you; I'm a statue personifying resignation." "Thank you, Jack. There is where we live. Helen and I." It was a brick house with a white door, two slender pillars before the door, and low, pleasant windows. It overlooked the river, on which a gray layer of mist now brooded. Only a few houses were near, and a grove of trees lay beyond. "We were in the city last winter and spring, and in another hospital, till a doctor who had charge sent us out here, in July, and found this for us. Helen looked so badly. She sympathizes so tremendously. She grew very thin and white. They don't bring them here directly from the fields, you know. Most of them here are getting better. He said we would be quite as much use. Do you know, it is very nice to be of use." "Do I gather that, apart from the charm of utility--a thing that never appealed to me by its own virtue--do I correctly infer that you like it?" Mrs. Mavering opened the door. The lamp in the hall shone across her face as she turned with a curious smile. "You don't change, do you?" If Helen surprised Gard it was not with change, but with that same vividness of her personality; the tone of her voice, as definite as a musical theme; the swift step; the nameless something about her, impetuous, challenging, demanding, that said, "This is Helen--not a resemblance or recollection merely, but one who cannot be made another." He was surprised by the flood of his recollections of her and by the fact that, tested by the present, they were all found to be true. "Lady Rachel says there are scallops. It's glorious of you to come. We know what you did in the spring, and we have a piano, but you ought to have an organ to tell about it, it's so big. Is it fun to be a hero?" "That's an odd idea. I thought you might tell me who I am, or whether I'm something at all; but I don't recognize that. Can't you do any better?" They followed Mavering and Rachel, and came to the white door, that stood open for them. Helen looked up suddenly, but did not smile, only said: "You've changed, haven't you?" Within he noticed Mrs. Mavering's touch everywhere. Wherever she was, things about her seemed to alter their practical bearing and take on a difference. A plain table became luxurious by virtue of something thrown across it. A tall jar was placed on the painted mantel-piece, and the mantel-piece itself became reminiscent.