She
continued, and Harry Lawton continued, and they met.
Harry Lawton had known Eudora at once. She looked the same to
him as when she had been a girl, and he looked the same to her
when he spoke.
"Hullo, Eudora," said Harry Lawton, in a ludicrously boyish
fashion. His face flushed, too, like a boy. He extended his hand
like a boy. The man, seen near at hand, was a boy. In reality he
himself had not changed. A few layers of flesh and a change of
color-cells do not make another man. He had always been a simple,
sincere, friendly soul, beloved of men and women alike, and he
was that now. Eudora held out her hand, and her eyes fell before
the eyes of the man, in an absurd fashion for such a stately
creature as she. But the man himself acted like a great happy
overgrown school-boy.
"Hullo, Eudora," he said again.
"Hullo," said she, falteringly.
It was inconceivable that they should meet in such wise after the
years of separation and longing which they had both undergone;
but each took refuge, as it were, in a long-past youth, even
childhood, from the fierce tension of age.
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