"What! Stella Vorhis! I can hardly
believe it!"
"But it's oh-so-true!" said Stella, rising. "Let's go--we can't talk
here."
"That was one awful break I made. I most sincerely and humbly beg your
pardon," Pringle said on the sidewalk.
Stella laughed.
"That's all right--I understand--forget it! You hadn't looked at me.
But I knew you when you first came in--only I wasn't sure till the
lights were turned on. Of course it would be great fun to tease
you--pretend to be shocked and dreadfully angry, and all that--but
I haven't got time. And oh, John Wesley, I'm so delighted to see you
again! Let's go over to the park. Not but what I was dreadfully angry,
sure enough, until I had a second to think. Why don't you say you're
glad to see me--after five years?"
"Stella! You know I am. Six years, please. But I thought you were
still in Prescott?"
"We came here three years ago. Here's a bench. Now tell it to me!"
But Pringle stood beside and looked down at her without speech, with
a smile unexpected from a face so lean, so brown, so year-bitten and
iron-hard--a smile which happily changed that face, and softened it.
The girl's eyes danced at him.
"I'm so glad you've come, John Wesley! Good old Wes!"
"So I am--both those little things. Six years!" he said slowly.
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