This guard was young, smart, debonair, with a twinkle in his eye, and the first who didn’t treat a comrade’s murderer with instinctive animosity. Teddy got up and followed him in the stupefied bewilderment with which he had done everything else that day. Lady to see him! The words seemed to refer to something so far back in his history that he could hardly recall what it was. Once upon a time there had been a mother, a Jennie, a Gussie, and a Gladys; but they were now remote and shadowy. Along corridors, up steps, and then along more corridors he tramped, till they stopped at an open door—and there he saw Jennie. In a room unspeakably bare and forbidding in spite of a table and half a dozen chairs she waited for him with a smile. He, too, did his best to smile, but his lower lip, swollen with the kick that had caught him in the mouth, made the effort nothing but a rictus. For this, Jennie had been prepared by the snapshot in the paper. All the while she had been on the way to him she had been saying to herself that she must show no sign of horror or surprise. Even though she would follow the cue of her poor demented mother and pretend that he was in prison as a martyr, she would take no pitying or tragic note. She went forward, therefore, and threw her arms about him with the same offhand, unsentimental pleasure which she would have shown in meeting him after a brief absence at any time. "You darling Ted! We’re so glad to have found you. I thought I’d just run down and bring you some clean clothes." It was better done than she thought she had the strength for, perhaps because his need was greater than she had supposed possible. Could she have dreamt beforehand that Teddy would ever look like this, she would have screamed from fright. But now that he did, she rose to the fact, seemingly taking it for granted, actually taking it for granted, through some hitherto unsuspected histrionic force. Within a minute of his arrival they were seated near each other, in a curious make-believe that the conditions were not terrible. With this familiar presence beside him, Teddy’s mind resumed functioning, possibly to his regret. Home was close to him again, while the loved faces came back to life. "How’s ma?" The question was indistinct because, now that it came to making conversation, he found that his tongue was thickened in addition to his swollen lip. Jennie replied that their mother’s health was never better. "I suppose"—he balked a little but forced himself onward—"I suppose she feels pretty bad—over me." "No, she doesn’t. She told me to tell you so." She was determined to speak truthfully in this respect, so that if their mother’s dementia could do him any good, he shouldn’t fail of it. "She told me to say that you were not to be sorry for anything you’d done, no matter how they punished you." "Does she—does she know what I’ve done?" She threw it off, as if casually.