"Yes. I get over it quickly. Do you find Scott very much changed?"
"Well, not as much as you. Do you find Naïda changed?"
"Not nearly as much as you."
They smiled. The slight embarrassment born of polite indifference brightened into amiable interest, tinctured by curiosity.
"Duane, have you been studying painting all these years?"
"Yes. What have you been doing all these years?"
"Nothing." A shadow fell across her face. "It has been lonely—until recently. I began to live yesterday."
"You used to tell me you were lonely," he nodded.
"I was. You and Naïda were godsends." Something of the old thrill stirred her recollection. She leaned forward, looking at him curiously; the old memory of him was already lending him something of the forgotten glamour.
"How tall you are!" she said; "how much thinner and—how very impressively grown-up you are, Duane. I didn't expect you to be entirely a man so soon—with such a—an odd—expression——"