“What did he return to Wellwood for if he didn’t come for that? All his relatives are gone. He never married. Yes, he has come back to see Eudora and marry her, if she will have him. No man who ever loved Eudora would ever get over loving her. And he will not be shocked when he sees her. She is no more changed than a beautiful old statue.” “HE is changed, though,” said Amelia. “I saw him the other day. He didn’t see me, and I would hardly have known him. He has grown stout, and his hair is gray.” “Eudora’s hair is gray,” said Sophia. “Yes, but you can see the gold through Eudora’s gray. It just looks as if a shadow was thrown over it. It doesn’t change her. Harry Lawton’s gray hair does change him.” “If,” said Anna, sentimentally, “Eudora thinks Harry’s hair turned gray for love of her, you can trust her or any woman to see the gold through it.” “Harry’s hair was never gold--just an ordinary brown,” said Amelia. “Anyway, the Lawtons turned gray young.” “She won’t think of that at all,” said Sophia. “I wonder why Eudora always avoided him so, years ago,” said Amelia. “Why doesn’t a girl in a field of daisies stop to pick one, which she never forgets?” said Sophia. “Eudora had so many chances, and I don’t think her heart was fixed when she was very young; at least, I don’t think it was fixed so she knew it.” “I wonder,” said Amelia, “if he will go and call on her.” Amelia privately wished that she lived near enough to know if Harry Lawton did call. She, as well as Mrs. Joseph Glynn, would have enjoyed watching out and knowing something of the village happenings, but the Lancaster house was situated so far from the road, behind its grove of trees, that nothing whatever could be seen. “I doubt if Eudora tells, if he does call--that is, not unless something definite happens,” said Anna. “No,” remarked Amelia, sadly. “Eudora is a dear, but she is very silent with regard to her own affairs.” “She ought to be,” said Sophia, with her married authority. She was, to her sisters, as one who had passed within the shrine and was dignifiedly silent with regard to its intimate mysteries. “I suppose so,” assented Anna, with a soft sigh. Amelia sighed also. Then she took the tea-tray out of the room. She had to make some biscuits for supper. Meantime Eudora was pacing homeward with the baby-carriage. Her serene face was a little perturbed. Her oval cheeks were flushed, and her mouth now and then trembled. She had, if she followed her usual course, to pass the Wellwood Inn, but she could diverge, and by taking a side street and walking a half-mile farther reach home without coming in sight of the inn. She did so to-day.