"H'm—did I?"
"I haven't any other now. Let me think of the Fort as my home." He paused, but her aspect was not encouraging, was hardly hospitable. He went on: "Let me look after the roof, and—"
"Certainly not. I have looked after everything for half a century. When I'm dead some one else may do it—not before."
"Ah, you know what I mean. You've lost your only son. Give me some of his privileges." She jerked away her head, as she did when she was moved, and wanted not to betray the fact. "I am tired of being homeless," Ethan said.
"You will make a home of your own, my dear."
"I want this for my home."
She turned suddenly, and looked at him with eyes that were keen and intent under their film of tears.
"No," she said, slowly, "this does for us. It is not the kind of home for you."
"It is the kind I want."