A queer little vision came before him at that moment
of Lady Letitia hobbling towards him upon the ice,
with one skate unbuckled, and a firm but gracious en-
treaty that the little boy — he was at least a head
taller than she — would fasten it for her. Strange
little flashes of memory had come to him now and then
in that new world where he had carved his way to
success, memories so indistinct that they brought with
them no thrills, scarcely even any longing. And now
all his strength and hardness, qualities so necessary
to him throughout his strenuous life, seemed to have
passed away. He was a child again, breathing in all-
these simple sights and perfumes, his memory taking him
even further back to the days when he sat in the meadow,
in the hot sun, picking daisies and buttercups, and
watching for the fish that sometimes jumped from the
stream. It was an entirely unexpected emotion, this.
When once more he strode along the footpath, he felt
a different man. He had lost his slight touch of assur-
ance. He looked about him eagerly, almost appeal-
ingly. He was ashamed to confess even to himself that
he had the feeling of a wanderer who has come home.
