It was ten months later when I met her again.
Her face wore a tell-tale look. The daintiness of bearing and innocent features were missing. Her shyness was gone. She was bold, and immeasureably aged.
A heavy coat of powder and rouge besmeared her face, but only served to make the dark circles beneath her eyes stand forth with more prominence. The simple, childish gown I had admired was replaced by a showy, flashy creation.
In one glance I read the answer, the secret of her changed existence.
When her eyes met mine, for a second in their dull depths I could see an expression of the old innocence. Probably it was the thought she entertained for that short space in the connecting of me with her old and pure existence.
When she spoke I could not be mistaken. Try as she did to appear the girl of old, it was useless. The pace had told and left its trace only too strongly written on every line of her face.
After the usual greeting I asked her to take dinner with me. She assented.
In the cafe I asked her what had happened. How she had fallen.
For a minute she sat gazing at me and her eyes filled with tears.