That evening, alone in the library, he and Madeline had their first long, intimate talk, the first since those days—to him they seemed as far away as the last century—when they walked the South Harniss beach together, walked beneath the rainbows and dreamed. And now here was their dream coming true.
Madeline, he was realizing it as he looked at her, was prettier than ever. She had grown a little older, of course, a little more mature, but surprisingly little. She was still a girl, a very, very pretty girl and a charming girl. And he—
“What are you thinking about?” she demanded suddenly.
He came to himself. “I was thinking about you,” he said. “You are just as you used to be, just as charming and just as sweet. You haven't changed.”
She smiled and then pouted.
“I don't know whether to like that or not,” she said. “Did you expect to find me less—charming and the rest?”
“Why, no, of course not. That was clumsy on my part. What I meant was that—well, it seems ages, centuries, since we were together there on the Cape—and yet you have not changed.”
She regarded him reflectively.
“You have,” she said.
“Have what?”