He did not hear her—he was standing at a window, his back toward her, and absorbed in thought.
As if shod with velvet, Editha crossed the room and stood at his side.
Her eyes had lighted wondrously as they rested upon the proud, handsome figure before her, and the rich color coming and going in her cheeks made her marvelously beautiful.
“Earle, I am so glad you have come,” she said, simply, yet with tremulous tones that betrayed her gladness was almost unto tears, while with something of her old impulse she held out both fair hands to him.
He started and turned quickly at the sweet tones, and searched the glowing face with eager scrutiny.
Could this tall, beautiful woman, with the shining, silken crown about her shapely head, with her deep, glowing eyes, her rich, varying color, her cordial, tremulous greeting, be the same Editha of three years ago?
She had been a fair, plump, and laughing girl, her sunny hair falling in graceful waves over her rounded shoulders, her eyes dancing with fun and merriment, her moods never twice the same, a creature of heart and impulse.
Now her form was grown; she was more fully developed, with a stately poise which she was not wont to have; her features were more deeply lined with character, and glorified with a richer, more mature beauty, and the waving, sunny hair had been gathered up and wreathed her head in a plaited golden coronet.
But these eyes—those clear, truthful, heaven-blue eyes were the same; the smile was the same upon the scarlet lips, and the sweet, tender tremulous tones were the same; he had never forgotten their music, and his heart bounded with a joy that was almost pain as they again fell upon his ear.
“Earle, I am so glad you have come.”