Her heart beat almost to suffocation; she stood still for a moment, then walked on again more slowly, for her joy made her timid.
The stranger came on. As he approached he took off his hat, revealing a very tanned face and light short hair; his well-opened eyes were blue; he had a rather drooping mustache, otherwise his face was clean shaven. If ten years make a difference in a woman, they often effect a greater change in a man. When Arnold last saw Frances he was twenty-two; he was very slight then, his mustache was little more than visible, and his complexion was too fair. Now he was bronzed and broadened. When he came up to Frances and took her hand, she knew that not only she herself, but all her little world, would acknowledge her lover to be a very handsome man.
"Is that really you, Frances?" he began.
His voice was thoroughly manly, and gave the girl who had longed for him for ten years an additional thrill of satisfaction.
"Is that really you? Let me hold your hand for an instant; Frances you are changed!"
"Older, you mean, Philip."
She was blushing and trembling—she could not hide this first emotion.
He looked very steadily into her face, then gently withdrew his hand.
"Age has nothing to do with it," he said. "You are changed, and yet there is some of the old Frances left. In the old days you had a petulant tone when people said things which did not quite suit you; I hope—I trust—it has not gone. I am not perfect, and I don't like perfection. Yes, I see it is still there. Frances, it is good to come back to the old country, and to you."
"You got my letter, Philip?"