'And your surname?'
'Marley. That is what my mother is called.'
He paused before speaking again. A warm flow, as from a broken vein, suffused his heart. He would have liked to clasp the child to him and have said, 'I am your father, kiss me, put your arms about me and let me cry.' But he dared not do so.
Presently he spoke again.
'Will you sit by me on this rock and tell me about these pebbles? I do not understand. Why do you gather them? What is done with them?'
She at once took the place indicated, without shyness, with no awkwardness. But he did not seat himself, he stood leaning against the larger bulk of the chalky mass so that he might study her face as she spoke.
'About these pebbles?'
'Please, sir, they are chalcedony. Sometimes I get moss agates.'
'I understand. But I protest, to my uninitiated eyes they look vastly uninteresting.'