"Yes. And you? You've told so little about yourself. You do write horrid letters, Billy."
"Your old frankness, I observe," he said mischievously.
"I know it; but when I am longing to hear if you're well and all about you, you write reams of student gossip. I forgive you, though, now I see you, for you look better than I ever supposed you could."
"Not much like the flabby chunk of flesh that used to call itself Billy Farrington?" he asked complacently.
"Not a bit, you giant; but you're the same old Billy. Is it polite to say you've grown? Walk off, and let me look at you."
Turning, he made a few quick strides up and down the room, laughing, as he did so, at the perfect satisfaction written on her face. Then he came back and took her hand once more.
"Will it pass, Teddy?" he asked, looking down at the tall girl beside him.
"Yes, in every way. You're sure you are as strong as ever?"
"Sound as a nut. And, by Jove, Ted, after two years of Dutch Gretchens, it is good to see you again."