When the holidays came round she stayed a week in the town where she had been brought up, and then went into the country for Christmas.
Whilst waiting in the station for the train she came across that same young man who had caused her so many heartaches and burnings.
Absence had not in any way altered Deborah’s affection for him, so when she saw him there in the station she could just have danced for joy. He had with him the other man to whom she had given such an affectionate farewell four months since. He was very nice and quiet, and kind-hearted in an unobtrusive way, and it isn’t often one meets that kind of a man.
It happened by chance that they were standing on the same platform from which her train was going, and Deborah was not feeling the least bit shy that day, so she went to speak to them. However, the young gentleman kept distinctly aloof; he even made as if he were going to walk away, but he didn’t.
“I think you knew Mr —— a little,” said the other.
“Oh, yes, I knew him very well,” she answered. But when she went to him and held out her hand he didn’t make the slightest effort to take it, except in a very cold and uncertain way.
“I don’t seem to remember you in the very least,” he said, and looked at her just as if she had been a perfect stranger to whom he had never before spoken.
“But I remember you perfectly,” said Deborah, and laughed, for she was much too happy to think of anything but speaking the truth.
They went together to the railway carriage, where Maggie was already settled, and he stood there till the train went out.
Just before it went he said to Deborah: “I don’t know how I could have forgotten you, you are just the same as you used to be.” But she knew she had never been anything very grand, so she only laughed and looked at him. Truth to tell she could scarcely look at anyone else.