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 How would he recognize Lydia Canfield after all these years? But she, having seen him emerge from the house, jumped to her conclusion in her customary way. This must be Angus Burke. She turned to scrutinize him, to make the appearance of this young stranger coincide with her recollections of the old Angus Burke. Then she called after him.

“Angus, Angus Burke,” she said.

He stopped, turned gravely, hiding his apprehension.

“Don’t you remember me?” she said. “I am Lydia Canfield.”

His eyes brightened for an instant. “Yes,” he said. Then, after a pause, “I’m trying to stand up for myself—like you said.”

“I’m glad you’ve come,” she said primly. “It was what you ought to do.” Then again, and with girlish pretensions of mature dignity, she scrutinized him. “You—you have improved,” she said.

He flushed under her directness and moved his head uneasily. But his eyes did not waver from her face. It seemed as if he were scrutinizing her, searching for something which he hoped very much to find, but he did not reply. For once in her brief, active life words did not come readily to Lydia. Finally Angus looked away