Her bobbed hair, curly and rebellious, of a rich brown-red color, framed a pretty face Lane surely remembered.

But yet not the same! He had carried away memory of a child's face and this was a woman's.

It was bright, piquant, with darkly glancing eyes, and vivid cheeks, and carmine lips.
"Oh, _hot dog_! if it isn't Dare!" she squealed, and with radiant look she ran into his arms.
The moment, or moments, of that meeting between brother and sister passed, leaving Lane conscious of hearty welcome and a sense of unreality.

He could not at once adjust his mental faculties to an incomprehensible difference affecting everything.
They sat down to supper, and Lane, sick, dazed, weak, found eating his first meal at home as different as everything else from what he had expected.

There had been no lack of warmth or love in Lorna's welcome, but he suffered disappointment.