Potch's expression, a queer, sombre and shamed heaviness of his face, arrested her thought.
"Maud——" she murmured again. "I see," she added, "it was just Maud——"
"Yes," Potch said.
"That explains a good deal." Sophie's eyes were on the distant horizon of the plains; her fingers played idly with quartz pebbles, pink-stained like rose coral, lying on the earth about her.
"What does it explain?" Potch asked.
"Why," Sophie said, "for one thing—how you grew up. You've changed since I went away, Potch, you know...."
His smile showed a moment.
"I'm older."
"Older, graver, harder ... and kinder, though you always had a genius for kindness, Potch.... But Maud——"
Potch turned his head from her. Sophie regarded his averted profile thoughtfully.