thing for him to sit by and see the play.

Between whiles this winter, Hazel did a great deal of
thinking: even German could not crowd it out. She knew, the
minute she had said she would come to town, that she wished
something could step in and keep her at Chickaree; or at least
she knew that she was leaving more there than she had counted
upon; and the knowledge chafed her. It was all very well to
like--somebody--(name of course unknown)--to a certain degree;
but when the liking made itself into bonds and ties and
hindrances, then Miss Wych rebelled. She brought up all sorts
of questions in the most unattractive shape, to find them
suited with answers that could find no reply. It was simply
unbearable, she urged upon herself, this being held in and
watched and restricted,--very unbearable! Only, somehow, the
person who did it all, was _not_. And the doubt whether life
would be worth having, in such guardianship, started a more
difficult point: what would it be worth without? And the
mental efforts to shake herself into clear order, just seemed,
as sometimes happens, to tie three knots where there was one
before.

'It will go after a while,' she said, twisting herself about
under the new form of loneliness and unrest which possessed
her when she got to town. And it did: deeper in.

Mr. Falkirk, blind bat that he was (for a sharp-sighted man),
was not discontented with his winter. He had Wych Hazel to
himself, and she gave him no more trouble than he liked by the
force of old associations. He watched the play in which she
was so prominent and so pretty a figure, and found it amusing.
It seemed safe play, so far; the fort that he was set to keep
seemed quite secure from any attacks that presently
threatened; and Mr. Falkirk had no suspicion that its safety
was owing to a garrison within the walls. The outside he knew
he watched well. It was a very quiet winter, indeed, except at
such times as Miss Kennedy's doors were open to all comers;
but Mr. Falkirk did not find fault with that. He had never
been garrulous in his ward's company or in any other.
Certainly he liked to hear _her_ talk; and he knew that she
talked far less than usual, when they were alone; but he
argued with himself that Wych Hazel was growing older, was
seriously engaging herself in study, after other than a
school-girl's fashion; and that all this winter's development
was but the sweet maturing of the fruit which in growing
mature was losing so