"Yes, I'm coming now." She kissed her father. "Say good-night to him."
He, too, stooped and kissed him. "He was the first man that was ever kind to me."
Speaking seldom, they sat together in the parlour. They were both idle, but Alexander smoked, and now and then they would lift their eyes from the fire and look across the little space dividing them, and through the smoke wreaths Alexander's eyes would soften at the sight of Theresa's smiles. His memory was already stored with them. There was the frank one for friendship, the slow one for thought; the little, twisted, mocking one, the quick one that was an affirmation; and now this wavering one that came with a pale flood of colour, and would not be stilled, and stirred his heart as the lake water stirred the reeds.
Looking at his watch, he bade her to bed at last, and she rose with a strange pleasure in obedience.
"You won't be afraid?" he asked.
"No. Will you be very far away?"
"At the end of the passage in what we call the store-room. They've put a bed for me there. Theresa, you are not blaming me?"
"How could I?"
"Do you think he understood?"
"I know he did," she said firmly.