‘Some are not.’ She half turned towards John again with a movement of her hand as if directing her father’s attention to him. ‘There are likenesses—that take away one’s breath.’
‘Ah—yes—it may be so,’ the old man said. Then, as if waking up, ‘Will you take anything? The house is upset—there is nobody to give any orders. Still,’ he said, looking round at the table where a cloth was laid, ‘there are meals all the same.’
She looked up at him with a momentary softening in her face, and put her hand on his arm.
‘Poor father,’ she said.
‘Yes—I’ll be poor, poor enough by myself. To begin—that sort of thing at my time of life—after nearly fifty years——’
‘Be thankful that you have had fifty years—without any trouble,’ she said. And then, ‘I should like to see her. No doubt she is changed, much changed, since I saw her last. Don’t stir, father—sit down and rest—you are ready to drop with fatigue. The boy will show me the way.’
‘I hope you won’t think it strange. I—I couldn’t go with you, Emily.’
‘No. I understand it all. Sit down there in your own chair.’
The old man seated himself with a sudden burst of sobbing.
‘It’s not mine, it’s her chair. I like it so. I like it so! For fifty years! and she will never sit here more.’