He spoke again. "Life's a variorum! I shouldn't wonder ... Hagar!"
"Yes, father?"
"Suppose you come over here, nearer. I want to see how you've 'done growed up.'"
She moved her chair until it rested full in a slant ray of sunlight, coming through the lowered blinds, then sat within the ray, as still almost as if she had been sculptured there.
Five minutes passed. "Haven't you any other name than Hagar?" said Medway. "Are they always going to call you that?"
"Grandfather calls me Gipsy—except when he doesn't like what I do."
"Does that happen often? Are you wilful?"
"I do not know," said Hagar. "I am like my mother."
When she had spoken, she repented it with a pang of fear. He was in no condition, of course, to have waked old, disturbing thoughts.