"How curious!"
He did not think it so, but agreed.
"It is strange. My father is old, and he was quite pleased to retire when he found me fit for the berth. I thought life at Gib awfully monotonous, and was glad enough to throw it up."
He had not complained before Phœbe Cameron left, but the question of his sentiments did not come under discussion. They talked of old friends a little scrappily and with some constraint—so much had happened since they had met, and numerous recollections had to be skipped—until his hostess asked:—
"Would you like to see my wee Phœbe? She is growing wonderfully. She is nearly two years old now!"
Her voice sank with an inflexion of sorrow. The age of her child recalled the long blank which occupied the centre of her lifetime's sheet.
The big man's heart thrilled with pity. He longed to open his wide, protecting arms and fold the fragile creature to his breast; she seemed so sweet, so brave, yet so lonely.
But he answered bluntly enough:—
"Produce the youngster. I suppose she'll call me 'Dot Dandy' as the other kids used to!"
Phœbe was absent for a few moments, and then returned with a toddling article, half embroidery, half flesh, with cheeks like apples, and eyes wide with youthful criticism.