"And there's your father thinking of you day and night."
"Yes, there's Father." She had been neglecting him of late; she had allowed him to come home without a single question about his visit to the farm, and now, repentant, she ran upstairs to his little room.
"How dare you sit here without a fire?" she asked.
"I'm wearing my overcoat, my dear."
"Come downstairs at once!"
"I'm afraid your Uncle George is in the dining-room. I can work better alone."
She knelt and put a match to the wood and paper.
"We can't afford it, Theresa."
"I can, though. What are you working at?"
"I've begun again. It's foolish, no doubt—a waste of time, but the old impulse returns. Though now there is no one who cares for it."