His arm slipped around her waist and he drew her close.
"I have loved you from the first," he said, pleadingly. "I wanted to tell you yesterday. I thought you cared then; you do care for me, don't you?"
"Yes, Larry," she said softly, hiding her face. "I think I have—from the first."
"From the first—the very first, dearest?" he asked tenderly. "From the day we met—years ago?"
"Years ago?" she asked in surprise. "Then you are? Yes, you are; you must be the little boy who was crying in the train? I knew when you came with the club we had met somewhere, and I could not remember where."
"Did you remember the little boy?" he asked.
"Yes, Larry," she said "I never have forgotten. I used to pray for him every night; that he might be happy in his new home. I kept the picture of him that was taken at Portland and I often have thought of him."
"It must have been meant that we should meet, dearest," he whispered.
"Yes, Larry," she replied softly.
He kissed her and held her close.