Echoes of the War

by J. M. Barrie

'That,' he says a little wryly, 'is because he is my son, Ellen.'

'Yes—it's strange; but—yes.'

With a twinkle that is not all humorous, 'Did it ever strike you, Ellen, that I am a bit—shy of him?'

She is indeed surprised. 'Of Rogie!'

'I suppose it is because I am his father.'

She presumes that this is his sarcasm again, and lets it pass at that. It reminds her of what she wants to say.

'You are so sarcastic,' she has never quite got the meaning of this word, 'to Rogie at times. Boys don't like that, John.'

'Is that so, Ellen?'

'Of course I don't mind your being sarcastic to me—'

'Much good,' groaning, 'my being sarcastic to you! You are so seldom aware of it.'