"Yes—and I dare say I was in need of a more sympathetic spirit," said Rowena thoughtfully. "I have always laughed too much. I laugh at myself now. You want to know about our shooting. Ted has let it, I am afraid." They began to talk over estate matters, and then about sport in general. He seemed in no hurry to go; and presently began to revert to his own state of health. "I am only here to patch myself up," he said. "But they've chucked me out of the army—let me retire as Major-General. I suppose I ought to feel my life is over; but my brain is sound, and it makes me rage at times. What shall I do with myself here? Only vegetate." "Oh, no; if you are a reader, you won't do that. It's wonderful how much fuller we can store our brains than we do! I cannot fill my empty cells fast enough! Have you any hobbies?" He shook his head. "I'm a reader of sorts. I couldn't have lived through my eighteen months without books." Then Rowena said suddenly: "Have you seen your child?" His brows contracted. "No. I've told her nurse I'll see her in a day or two. I've been busy. Children aren't in my line." "She's a little person of much character," said Rowena slowly. "I don't want to be an interfering meddler, but you'll gain by her acquaintance. I have." He raised his eyebrows and then smiled. "I am talking to you like an old friend. If you had been well and jolly, I should have cut and run. I have taken a dislike to my fellow-creatures, especially the sound and healthy ones. And to my disgust I'm nervy—children would get on my nerves. I'll see her when I feel fitter. You consider me an inhuman parent, I can see." "No, only an ignorant one," said Rowena. "Your little daughter has made some of my worst days very bright." "Women always worship babies." "She is companionable, you will find." His brows did not relax; he leant back in his chair and drew a long breath. "Her existence brings back some bad times. Her mother hated me, you know. It was the first thing she said to me after the birth of the child. We couldn't pull together, though God knows I tried hard. And poor Evie was forced by her mother to marry me, I heard afterwards. Well, she didn't have a long time with me, poor soul!" Then he pulled himself up. "I am getting garrulous. I don't generally give way to such personal reminiscences, but I want to explain my want of interest in the child. I was always told she was the picture of her mother." "But my good man," said Rowena quickly, "bodies may resemble each other, but very seldom souls. And Mysie is—well, I will leave you to find out. This much I will tell you, that she is hungering for your interest and affection. Give her a chance—and yourself too." He did not reply for a few minutes; then he said rather irrelevantly: "You say you're a reader. Have you enough books to keep you occupied? Because my father bequeathed to me a very fine library. I have been overhauling it and can lend you anything you want." "Oh, how truly kind!"