No! Her face suddenly stood out to his
view as though he saw her with his physical eye--a sweet and vivacious
child's face with light-brown hair and gray eyes and a short upper lip.
. . . And the voice. . . .
He stopped short and struck his palms together. "You are Tom Meredith's
little cousin!"
"The Great Harkless!" she answered, and stretched out her hand to him.
"I remember you!"
"Isn't it time?"
"Ah, but I never forgot you," he cried. "I thought I had. I didn't know
who it was I was remembering. I thought it was fancy, and it was memory. I
never forgot your voice, singing--and I remembered your face too; though I
thought I didn't." He drew a deep breath. "_That_ was why----"
"Tom Meredith has not forgotten you," she said, as he paused.
"Would you mind shaking hands once more?" he asked. She gave him her hand
again. "With all my heart. Why?"
"I'm making a record at it. Thank you."
"They called me 'Sir Galahad's little sister' all one summer because the
Great John Harkless called me that. You danced with me in the evening."
"Did I?"
"Ah," she said, shaking her head, "you were too busy being in love with
Mrs. Van Skuyt to remember a waltz with only me! I was allowed to meet you
as a reward for singing my very best, and you--you bowed with the
indulgence of a grandfather, and asked me to dance.
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