"Yes, several times, and I told her how you taught me to play the violin, to read, and, in fact, all I know is due to you. She was greatly interested, and said that you must be a wonderful man."
"Did she ask you what my name was?"
"Oh, yes. I told her, too, that you were not my real father, but that you had brought me here when I was a very little child."
"What did she say?"
"She seemed surprised, and asked if I didn't find the life here very lonely."
"Go on," was Martin's only comment as Nance paused.
"It was so nice in her room, and she let me help her fix it up. Daddy, I wonder if all white women—I mean good ones—are like Nurse Marion."
"Why do you ask, Nance?"
"I hardly know how to explain," the girl replied, looking thoughtfully before her. "Nurse Marion is very beautiful, but there is something about her I cannot understand. Her eyes are wonderful. They seem to be always seeing things far away. Even when she was smiling there was a sad expression in her eyes. Do you know, daddy, I believe that she has had some great trouble in her life."
"What makes you think so, Nance?"