"
"But your friendship is worth more now than then."
He shook his head.
"It is--because _you_ are more than you were then."
"I'm a mere wreck of what I was, Nan." He did not say it bitterly, but
he could not quite keep the sadness out of the uncompromising phrase.
She looked up at him, studying his face intently. It had always been a
remarkably fine face, and on it the suffering of the past year had done
a certain work which added to its beauty. He did not look ill, but the
refinement which illness sometimes lends to faces of a somewhat too
strongly cut type had softened it into an exceeding charm. Out of it the
eyes shone with an undaunted spirit which told of hidden fires.
"I am glad a share in the wreckage falls to me," she said softly.
"Nan," he told her, while his lips broke irresistibly into a smile
again, "I believe you are deliberately trying to burn a sweet incense
before me to-night. Just how fragrant it is to a fellow in my shape I
can't tell you. You would never do it if I were on my feet, I appreciate
that; but I'm very grateful just the same.
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