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Lois and her companion stopped on the summit of the hill to look at the rolling background of woods, brilliant still with their autumn coloring. The west wind had blown her hair into disorder, but it had blown also the color back into her cheeks. Her eyes were bright, and her laughter infectious. Her companion stooped down and passed his arm through hers, looking into her face admiringly.
“Lois,” he said, “this is the first day I have seen you like your old self. I can’t tell you how glad I am.”
She smiled.
“I wasn’t aware, Maurice,” she said, “that I have been very different. I have had headaches now and
