” She turned her face to the fire, gripped her hands upon her elbows, and drew her thin shoulders together in a shrug. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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