That statement concerning his friend contained the first personal note which had come from his lips. Barbara did not answer immediately, and Steve thought that she was phrasing her own reply. He could not know that she wanted a moment in which to contemplate the little hint of diffidence in his voice and to wonder at herself for not having wondered before if he had not, many, many times, been very lonely indeed. "Do you remember a little girl who was at our place the summer you were here?" she asked finally. "A pale, red-lipped, very shy little thing named Mary Graves?" Stephen nodded. "And do you remember how, even then, Garry seemed to care for her? He was always supercilious with the rest of us; he tormented us or ignored us entirely, but never her." Again the inclination of the head. "Well, he grew up just that way," Barbara went on, thoughtfully. "One never could tell what was behind his indifference or--or flippancies. He mocked at things . . . customs and courses of action, which we have come to accept and . . . and recognize. But he was always gentle with her, and kind, and--oh, I think reverend is the right word! Now, knowing Garry as I do--as you will, when you see him again--the phrase may seem a strange one to apply to him. And yet it describes best his bearing toward Mary Graves, two years ago." She was walking more slowly now, without knowing it. "I doubt if Garry ever revered anything on earth, or above it, except just little, white, shy Mary Graves, who never grew much bigger than she was when you knew her. I don't know whether you know it--of course you don't!--but his father cared that way for a woman, cared just as utterly. And everybody thought this match was an assured thing; they even wondered at it a little, she was so . . . so mouselike, and Garry so brilliant and hard and--I don't like the word sophisticated. It seemed to me that Garry's wisdom was not a thing which he had acquired himself. It seemed more the accumulated wisdom of ages and ages which was his just by--by instinct. "He cared for her that way, Mr. O'Mara, and she married another man, almost without a word of explanation to him. Nobody ever cited Garry as a shining example, but he--that man whom Mary Graves married--had an unspeakable record! Her family made the match--the newspapers call it a union of America's fairest youth and powerful millions, don't they? Well, he had them--and she married him. And Garret Devereau dropped out of the world for a long time.