Graydon this appeared pathetic. He did not know that her mother was
so worn out from the journey, and so embarrassed by unaided efforts to
get settled while still caring for her half-sick child, that she
had decided to make a slight and hasty repast in her own room. Miss
Wildmere cared little for what took place behind the scenes, but was
usually superb before the footlights. Nothing could have been more
charming or better calculated to win general good-will than her
advance down the long room. In external beauty she was more striking
at first than Madge. She did not in the least regret that she must
enter alone, for she was not proud of her mother, and nothing drew
attention from herself. She assumed, however, a slight and charming
trace of embarrassment and perplexity, which to Graydon was perfectly
irresistible, and he mentally resolved that she should not much longer
want a devoted escort. Madge saw his glance of sympathy and strong
admiration, his smile and low bow as she passed, ushered forward by
the obsequious headwaiter, and her heart sank. In spite of all she
had attempted and achieved, the old cynical assurance came back to
her--"You are nothing to Graydon, and never can be anything to him."
She was pale enough now, but her eyes burned with the resolution not
to yield until all hope was slain. She talked freely, and was most
friendly toward Graydon, but there was a slight constraint in his
manner. The beautiful and self-possessed girl who sat opposite him was
not little Madge whom it had been his pleasure to pet and humor. She
evidently no longer regarded herself as his sister, but rather as a
charming young woman abundantly able to take care of herself. She had
indeed changed marvellously in more respects than one, and he felt
aggrieved that he had been kept in ignorance of her progress. He
believed that she had grown away from him and the past, as well as
grown up, according to her declaration. He recalled her apparent
disinclination for correspondence, and now thought it due to
indifference, rather than an indolent shrinking from effort. The
surprise she had given him seemed a little thing--an act due possibly
to vanity--compared with the sisterly accounts she might have written
of her improvement. She had achieved the wonder without aid from him,
and so of course had not felt the need of his help in any way. In
remembrance of the past he felt that he had not deserved to be so
ignored. Her profession of fri