Mr. Southwode quite perceived that. He was inclined to believe that what he had before him was the ripened fruit which in its green state he had tried so hard to bring into the sun; grown sweet and rich beyond his hopes. He turned the conversation however, took up his paper again and read to Rotha a paragraph concerning some late events in Europe; from which they went off into a talk leading far from personal affairs, to the affairs of nations past and present, and branching off into questions of history and literature. And Mr. Southwode found again the Rotha of old, only with the change I have above indicated. The talk was lively for an hour, until lunch was served. It was served for them alone, in the room where they were. As they took their places at table and the meal began, for a few minutes there was silence.
"This is like—and not like—the old time," Mr. Southwode remarked smiling.
"I think it is more 'not like,'" said Rotha.
"Why, pray?"
Rotha hesitated. "I said just now I had not changed; but in some things I have."
"Grown a little taller."
"A good deal, Mr. Southwode! And that is the least of the changes, I suppose."
"What are the others? Come, it is the very thing it imports me to know.
And the quicker the better. Tell me all you can."
"About myself?"
"I mean, about yourself!"