CHAPTER XXIX.
CALYPSO'S GIFT Two days later as his pretty aunt stood in her chamber shaking out the chestnut masses of her hair before her mirror, an impatient rapping at the living-room door sent her maid flying.
"That's Garry," said Constance calmly, belting in her chamber-robe of silk and twisting up her hair into one heavy lustrous knot.
A moment later they had exchanged salutes and, holding both his hands in hers, she stood looking at him, golden brown eyes very tender, cheeks becomingly pink.
"That miserable train is early; it happens once in a century.

I meant to meet you, dear." "Wayward met me at the station," he said.
There was a silence; under his curious and significant gaze she flushed, then laughed.
"Wayward said that you had something to tell me," he added....
"Constance, is it--" "Yes." "You darling!" he whispered, taking her into his arms.

And she laid her face on his shoulder, crying a little, laughing a little.
"After all these years, Garry--all these years! It is a long time to--to care for a man--a long, long time....

But there never was any other--not even through that dreadful period--" "I know." "Yes, you know....

I have cared for him since I was a little girl." They stood a while talking tenderly, intimately of her new happiness and of the new man, Wayward.
Both knew that he must bear his scars for ever, that youth had died in him.