The same indecision was in the man in the square as had been in him on the beach; but he looked feebler.
His action in tapping the bars was like that of a child. She observed that his lips moved, he was counting them, without purpose, as a child. His going back to strike a bar that had been omitted was the action of a child.
He was by no means an uncomely man. On the contrary, his features were finely cut, and had the lower jaw been firmer, and the chin less retreating, he would have been pronounced a handsome man. His brow was high and white, his eyebrows well arched, and the eyes fine, soft, and full.
Winefred's heart beat fast in uncertainty whether he would recognise her or not.
He came slowly on, with his eyes looking dreamily before him, and his lips moving as he counted, till he was close upon her. She blocked the way to his advance. Then he drew back, raised his hat, and said politely, 'A thousand pardons—sixty-eight, sixty-nine—I did not observe you.'
He looked at Winefred. A trouble came into his eyes. He was not sure. Did he know the young lady? The face was familiar, yet——
'I must apologise,' said he hesitatingly, 'if I—if I——'
'If you do not recollect your own child,' said Winefred, 'it is not her fault. You are, indeed, my father, who met me on the shore, and here is the watch you then gave me. I am Winefred Holwood.'
He recoiled, and groped in his pocket for his latchkey, but being unable to find it, put the handle of his umbrella to his lips and blew upon that, then stood, undecided, looking at her with the umbrella held up between them, and the handle at his mouth.