The man swung his umbrella, then began prodding the ground with it. “Hullo, Eudora,” he said again; then he added: “How are you, anyway? Fine and well?” “I am very well, thank you,” said Eudora. “So you have come home to Wellwood after all this time?” The man made an effort and recovered himself, although his handsome face was burning. “Yes,” he remarked, with considerable ease and dignity, to which he had a right, for Harry Lawton had not made a failure of his life, even though it had not included Eudora and a fulfilled dream. “Yes,” he continued, “I had some leisure; in fact, I have this spring retired from business; and I thought I would have a look at the old place. Very little changed I am happy to find it.” “Yes, it is very little changed,” assented Eudora; “at least, it seems so to me, but it is not for a life-long dweller in any place to judge of change. It is for the one who goes and returns after many years.” There was a faint hint of proud sadness in Eudora’s voice as she spoke the last two words. “It has been many years,” said Lawton, gravely, “and I wonder if it has seemed so to you.” Eudora held her head proudly. “Time passes swiftly,” said she, tritely. “But sometimes it may seem long in the passing, however swift,” said Lawton, “though I suppose it has not to you. You look just the same,” he added, regarding her admiringly. Eudora flushed a little. “I must be changed,” she murmured. “Not a bit. I would have known you anywhere. But I--” “I knew you the minute you spoke.” “Did you?” he asked, eagerly. “I was afraid I had grown so stout you would not remember me at all. Queer how a man will grow stout. I am not such a big eater, either, and I have worked hard, and--well, I might have been worse off, but I must say I have seen men who seemed to me happier, though I have made the best of things. I always did despise a flunk. But you! I heard you had adopted a baby,” he said, with a sudden glance at the blue and white bundle in the carriage, “and I thought you were mighty sensible. When people grow old they want young people growing around them, staffs for old age, you know, and all that sort of thing. Don’t know but I should have adopted a boy myself if it hadn’t been for--” The man stopped, and his face was pink. Eudora turned her face slightly away. “By the way,” said the man, in a suddenly hushed voice, “I suppose the kid you’ve got there is asleep. Wouldn’t do to wake him?” “I think I had better not,” replied Eudora, in a hesitating voice. She began to walk along, and Harry Lawton fell into step beside her. “I suppose it isn’t best to wake up babies; makes them cross, and they cry,” he said. “Say, Eudora, is he much trouble?” “Very little,” replied Eudora, still in that strange voice. “Doesn’t keep you awake nights?” “Oh no.” “Because if he does, I really think you should have a nurse. I don’t think you ought to lose sleep taking care of him.” “I do not.”