He turned and she got up and put out both hands to him, smiling, showing her big white teeth.
"Well, Nora!" he cried, clasping her hands gladly. "Why, what a young lady you've grown!"
She was not pretty, her red mouth was too big and her nose turned up, and she was freckled, but she had a slim graceful shape, her hair was a glory and her eyes full of warmth. She had been Laurence's playmate of old--she belonged to the only other Irish family in town. They had lived in the slum together, and she had been his first sweetheart.
"And you!" she said, looking at him shyly with artless admiration. "I hardly knew you, and yet I knew it was you!"
They stood and talked for a while. Laurence found out that she was tending the grave of her brother, "Colin, you'll remember," who had come back with the prison-fever on him, and died, "wasted to the bone." And that she did very well, she had been working on a dairy farm but it was too hard for her, and now she had got a place in the store, and was to begin next week. She lived with her mother. When Laurence said he would go to see her she seemed a little embarrassed, and asked, couldn't they meet some evening outside, her mother was a bit queer. So they arranged to meet on Sunday evening, (Mary would be at church) by the big willow on the river road. Nora looked a little disappointed, perhaps at having the meeting put off so long, but she was not one to demand or expect much. Laurence remembered what she had been--an humble, generous little creature, grateful for the least kindness, and she didn't get much. She was always giving more than she got, to her family and every one. She was hot-tempered, too, and would fly into a rage easily, and then dissolve in repentant tears. He looked at her rough red hands--poor Nora always had worked hard. But her neat dress, her carefully arranged hair, showed that she was making the most of herself. Her skin was soft and creamy, in spite of the freckles, her eyes were almost the colour of her hair, deep reddish-brown. They were like a dog's eyes, so soft and warm and wistful. Poor Nora, what a good little thing she was! With a quick glance round, Laurence seized her in his arms and kissed her very warmly on her red mouth. She blushed and trembled, but did not resist. She never had been able to resist any sign of affection, however careless. He kissed her again, and said a few tender words to her, in a lordly way. The homage of her shining dazzled eyes was sweet to him. And besides, the remembrance of old times had wakened.