“Hester!” he said, the blueness of his eyes flashing between blinks. “Not Hester?” “Yes; Hester,” she said, smiling up at him. He grasped both her hands, stammering for words that wanted to come quicker than he could articulate. “Hester!” he kept repeating. “Hester!” “To think you knew me, Gerald!” “Know you! I’d know you blind-folded. And how--I--you’re beautiful, Hester! I think you’ve grown five years younger.” “You’ve got on, Gerald. You look it.” “Yes; I’m general manager now at Finley’s.” “I’m so glad. Married?” “Not while there’s a Hester Bevins on earth.” She started at her own name. “How do you know I’m not?” “I--I know--” he said, reddening up. “Isn’t there some place we can talk, Gerald? I’ve thirty minutes before my friends call for me.” “Thirty minutes?” “Your rooms? Haven’t you rooms or a room where we could go and sit down?” “Why--why, no, Hester,” he said, still red. “I’d rather you didn’t go there. But here. Let’s stop in at the St. James Hotel. There’s a parlor.” To her surprise, she felt herself color up and was pleasantly conscious of her finger-tips. “You darling!” She smiled up at him. They were seated presently in the unaired plush-and-cherry, Nottingham-and-Axminster parlor of a small-town hotel. “Hester!” he kept repeating. “Hester!” “I’m a bad durl,” she said, challenging his eyes for what he knew. “You’re a little saint walked down and leaving an empty pedestal in my dreams.” She placed his forefinger over his mouth. “Sh-h,” she said. “I’m not a saint, Gerald; you know that.” “Yes,” he said, with a great deal of boyishness in his defiance; “I do know it, Hester, but it is those who have been through the fire who come out--new. It was your early environment.” “My aunt died on the town, Gerald, I heard. I could have saved her all that if I had only known. She was cheap, aunt was. Poor soul! She never looked ahead.” “It was your early environment, Hester. I’ve explained that often enough to them here. I’d bank on you, Hester--swear by you.” She patted him. “I’m a pretty bad egg, Gerald. According to the standards of a town like this, I’m rotten, and they’re about right. For five years, Gerald, I’ve--” “The real _you_ is ahead of, and not behind you, Hester.” “How wonderful,” she said, “for you to feel that way, but--” “Hester,” he said, more and more the big boy, his knees touching the floor now, and his big blond head nearing hers, “I don’t care about anything that’s past; I only know that, for me, you are the--” “Gerald,” she said, “for God’s sake!” “I’m a two-hundred-a-month man now, Hester; I want to build you the prettiest, the whitest little house in this town. Out in the Brierwood section. I’ll make them kowtow to you, Hester; I--” “Why,” she said slowly, and looking at him with a certain sadness, “you couldn’t keep me in stockings, Gerald. The gora on this hat cost more than one month of your salary.” “Good God!” he said.