change, too, or perhaps more truly become
himself. Still apparently the old Chris, handsome, poised, cynical, and
only too ready to be bored, he went his usual course of golf and polo,
gave his men's dinners, kissed Alice good-bye and departed for yachting
or motoring trips. Even Alice, shut away from reality in her own world
of music and sweet airs, flowers and friendship, saw no change.

But Norma saw it. She knew that Chris was no longer ready to respond to
every pretty woman's idle challenge to a flirtation; she knew that there
was a Chris of high ideals, a Chris capable even of heroism, a Chris who
loved simplicity, who loved even service, and who was not too spoiled
and too proud to give his time as well as his money, to give himself
gladly where he saw the need.

Their hours alone together were hours of enchanting discovery. Memories
of the little boy that had been Chris, the little girl that had been
Norma, their hopes and ambitions and joys and sorrows, all were
exchanged. And to them both every word seemed of thrilling and absorbing
interest. To Norma life now was a different thing when Chris merely was
in the room, however distant from her, however apparently interested in
someone, or something, else. She knew that he was conscious of her,
thinking of her, and that presently she would have just the passing
word, or smile, or even quiet glance that would buoy her hungry soul
like a fresh and powerful current.

It was not strange to her that she should have come to feel him the most
vital and most admirable of all the persons about her, for many of the
men and women who loved Chris shared this view. Norma had not been in
the Melrose house a month before she had heard him called "wonderful",
"inimitable", "the only Chris", a hundred times. Even, she told herself
sometimes, even the women that Chris quite openly disliked would not
return coldness for coldness. And how much less could she, so much
younger, resist the generous friendship he offered to her ignorance, and
awkwardness, and strangeness?

That he saw in her own companionship something to value she had at first
been slow to believe. Sheer pride had driven her to reluctance, to
shyness, to unbelief. But that was long ago, months ago. Norma knew now
that he truly liked her, that the very freshness and unconventionality
of her viewpoint delighted him, and that he gave her a frankness, a
simpleness, and an ardour, in his confidences, that would have
asto