Rollo's life had been a good deal of himself alone. Prim was all the sister he had ever known, and nearly all the mother too; unless Gyda might have the better claim to that title. All the readier, perhaps, he was able to deal with this burst of thoroughly natural passion, thoroughly womanish as it also was. His point of view had not been spoiled by feminine pettinesses. He took this paroxysm of what it was; something that must in the first instance have its way and work its own relief. He did not speak to Hazel at first, nor attempt to check the outflow of feeling which he contemplated with a very grave brow. Indeed for a minute or two he left the room and went out to speak to Gyda. Coming back, he remained quite silent and still until the first violence of tears had spent itself; then he sat down by Wych Hazel's side and began a series of mute testimonials that he was there, and that he had entered upon his life-long right to share and soothe whatever troubles concerned her. His hand upon her hand, or upon her hair, or on her cheek; and then her name half-whispered in her ear in a grieved tone of voice. 'I did not mean—' she said at last, trying for words. 'O you should have let me go!—I knew, I knew!'—— Precisely what, Hazel dared not think; but perhaps, the idea that he was learning anything about her, was as good a tonic as she could have had just then. She came back to her quiet bearing very fast, pushing her other self out of sight, locking it up and sealing it down, and setting her little foot upon it with extraordinary vehemence of purpose. Rollo did nothing to hinder this operation. Indeed he rather left her to herself, while he as usual made himself busy in helping Gyda, who came in to get her table ready. Rollo drew the table up into Wych Hazel's neighbourhood, and when it was set, took upon himself the oversight of Gyda's pot of coffee, which was on the coals before the fire. He seemed to be quite at home in the business; and smiling up at Wych Hazel as he stooped to his cookery, asked her "if she liked the smell of coffee?" 'Yes, I think so,' she answered, not too sure of anything in the world just then. 'Never smelt it before, perhaps?' The lips gave way, but the smile so nearly turned into trembling, that Hazel checked them both together. 'I don't believe you know how to make it.' 'Well—' said Hazel somewhat vaguely, from under her shadowing hands. 'That's a gentle confession of ignorance. Here comes Gyda, and porridge. What else is to bring, Gyda?' He went off, and came back in another minute with his hands full. Porridge and flad-brod and cheese and cream and broiled fish were set on the table; the coffee was at the fire. Rollo stood a moment surveying things, the old woman by the table, the little woman in the chair. 'You may kiss her hand, Gyda,' he said, in a tone that implied everything.