Evelyn was perhaps the least altered of the quartette; or so Jem thought at the first moment. She appeared hardly less young or less lovely than the picture stored in his memory. Yet the next instant, he saw that she, too, was changed—not only developed into fuller beauty and more womanly grace. Development had not taken place merely along the lines that might have been expected. The faintly satirical set of her lips was altogether new; and the eyes—those wonderful violet eyes—no longer shone with delight in the world around her, but were full of a sad forlornness, as if she had come to the end of her life, had tasted all it had to offer, and had found that all unsatisfying. Jem understood now what Jean had meant.
The four stopped, of course, and exchanged kind greetings.
General Villiers was delighted to see Jem. "I meant to call on you this afternoon," he said, "but we met Mr. Trevelyan, and my wife has asked him to bring you in to dinner to-night. Just a family dinner—only one or two others. You will come, of course. Mr. Trevelyan could not promise for Madame Collier."
"Thanks, I shall be much pleased," Jem answered.
"Why not give us three or four nights before you go back? We should be delighted," urged the General.
"I don't think I can. I'm afraid I shall have to hurry away, even sooner than I meant."
Jean gave him a look.
"Thanks, all the same."
"So you have secured a peep at the glen the first thing," remarked Evelyn. "Is it not curious that we should meet again just on this spot, after so many years? Do you remember?"—with her gracious smile. Then she asked, "Have you been ill lately? I had not heard of it."
"Rather out of sorts. Yes—I remember! Seven years ago."