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She did not know at the time that a giant Patagonian stood beneath the gas lamp at the corner above the Carrithers mansion in St. Charles Avenue. His gaunt, dark face was turned toward her doorway and his fierce eyes seemed to bore holes through the solid oak. "I can't stay very late," he said almost as he responded to the greeting. "Confounded business engagement.
It was so foolish. Besides, he's been gone nearly three years. How could he expect me to wait all that time? I haven't had a letter from him for more than a year. I counted it up today." "Does Jimmy Cannable know about him?" "I don't know and I'm afraid to ask." "Harry's a frightfully determined person," mused Betty Carrithers reflectively.
Green, erstwhile Patagonian surveyor, started at the sound of a soft voice close at hand, a voice in which grateful surprise was uppermost. "Why, Harry Green! How do you do!" He turned and beheld Miss Carrithers. She was leaning forward in her carriage, her little gloved hand extended toward him impulsively. She was amazed to see a look of relief flash in his eyes.
His smile was broad and wholesome as he gripped the little hand in a mighty brown one. "Betty Carrithers!" he exclaimed. "Now, this is like home! By George, you haven't changed a bit." "Don't you think so!" She flushed. "It's been several years, you know. A woman can change terribly in " "Ah, but you've just changed into a woman." "And what a man you've grown to be," admiringly. "I hope so.
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