He went on analyzing his characteristics, talking with great interest in the subject, and after a didactic style, but not with the heavy egoistic method that he had often employed years ago.
"No, I never remarked that."
"You know," he said presently, "in spite of all my bounce, I was a shy man.
"It's the fact, Mav. And my shyness came between me and others. I couldn't take them sufficiently free. I wanted all the overtures to come from them, and I was too ready to draw in my horns if they didn't seem to accept me straight at what I judged my own value. For a long while now it has been my endeavor to sink what was once described to me as my pers'nal equation. I don't think of myself at all, if I can help it; and the consequence is the shyness gets pushed into the background, my manner becomes more free and open, and people begin to treat me in a more friendly spirit."
And he wound up his discourse by returning to the original cause of satisfaction.
"Yes, I do think there are some now that like me for myself—not many, but just one or two, besides dear old Mr. Bates."
"Everybody does. Why, look at that child, Norah. Only been here a month, and worships the ground you tread on."
"Poor little mite. That's her notion of being grateful for what I did for her father. Does she eat just the same?"
"Ravenous."
"Don't stint her," said Dale, impressively. "Feed her ad lib. Give her all she'll swallow. It's the leeway she's got to make up;" and he turned his eyes toward the kitchen door. "Is she out there?"