"Her existence brings back some bad times. Her mother hated me, you know. It was the first thing she said to me after the birth of the child. We couldn't pull together, though God knows I tried hard. And poor Evie was forced by her mother to marry me, I heard afterwards. Well, she didn't have a long time with me, poor soul!"
Then he pulled himself up. "I am getting garrulous. I don't generally give way to such personal reminiscences, but I want to explain my want of interest in the child. I was always told she was the picture of her mother."
"But my good man," said Rowena quickly, "bodies may resemble each other, but very seldom souls. And Mysie is—well, I will leave you to find out. This much I will tell you, that she is hungering for your interest and affection. Give her a chance—and yourself too."
He did not reply for a few minutes; then he said rather irrelevantly: "You say you're a reader. Have you enough books to keep you occupied? Because my father bequeathed to me a very fine library. I have been overhauling it and can lend you anything you want."
"Oh, how truly kind!"
With animation Rowena began discussing books, and half an hour slipped by before her visitor attempted to make a move.
He would not stay to tea. As he stood up, he looked down at Rowena with some softness in his grey eyes.
"You don't want to be bucked up," he said, "for you are the essence of cheerfulness. When I have my bad bouts of pain, I think of the thousands of paralysed bedridden young men who have had their health and strength taken from them with one fell swoop in the war, and feel an old crock like myself has no right to grouse. I have done my work, and am wanted by no one!"
"You are wanted by your child!" said Rowena firmly.
He gave a short laugh.