She went up to him and laid her hand on his arm.
“Why are you like ice?” she said.
He pushed her away.
“The fire is out,” she continued; “let me light it.”
“No!” he thundered. “Leave it alone; I wish for no fire. I tell you I am a beggar, and worse; and I wish for no fire!”
“Oh father—father darling!” said the girl.
“Don’t ‘darling’ me; don’t come near me. I am displeased with you. You have cut me to the quick. I am angry with you. Leave me.”
“You may be angry,” she answered, “but I will not leave you ; and if you are cold—cold to death—and cannot afford a fire, you will warm yourself with me. Let me put my arms round you; let me lay my cheek against yours. Feel how my cheek glows. There, is not that better?”
He struggled, but she insisted. She sat on his knee now and put the cloak she was wearing, thin and poor enough in itself, round his neck. Inside the cloak she circled him with her arms. Her dark luxuriant hair fell against his white and scanty locks; she pressed her face close to his.
“You may hate me, but I am going to stay with you,” she said. “How cold you are!”