a mere pretence. He
was neither a lazy nor a morbid man: what pleasure could he have in
neglecting his work day after day, sitting alone in the dusky old shop
as if held there by some enchantment? Kitty knew that she herself had
nothing to do with it: she appeared to be no more in his way than a
tame dog would be, and, after the first annoyance which she gave
him, was really little more noticed. But there is a certain sense of
home-snugness and comfort in the presence of tame dogs and of women
like Kitty: one cannot be long in the room with either without
throwing them a kind word or petting them in some way. Doctor McCall
was just the man to fall into such a habit. Down on the farm, his
cattle, his hands, even the neighbors with whom he argued on politics,
could all have testified to his easy, large good-humor.

"Oh, we are the best of friends," he said indifferently when Maria
found Kitty chattering to him once, very much as she did to old Peter.
But when Miss Muller, who had no petty jealousies, enlarged on the
singular beauty of her eyes and some good points in her shape, he did
not respond. "I never could talk of a woman as if she were a horse,"
he said. "And this little girl seems to me unusually human."

"There's really nothing in her, though. Poor William! He is marrying
eyes, I tell him. It's a pitiable marriage!"

"Yes, it is," said Doctor McCall gravely.

After that he neglected the old books sometimes to talk to Kitty. He
thought she was such an immature, thoughtless creature that she would
not notice that the subject he chose was always the same--her daily
life, with old Peter for her chum and confidant.

"Mr. Guinness, then, has had no companion but you?" he said one day,
after a searching inspection of her face.

"No, nobody but me," quite forgetful, as she and Peter were too apt to
be, that her mother was alive.

"And has had none for years?"

"Not since his son died. Hugh Guinness is dead, you know."

Doctor McCall was looking thoughtfully at the floor. He rose presently
and took up his hat: "The old man cannot have been unhappy with such
love as you could give him. No man could."

Kitty was sitting, as usual, on a low stool pasting labels on some
dog-eared books: as long as McCall stood looking at her round cheeks
and double chin she pasted on, apparently unconscious that he was
there, but when he turned away she watched him shrewdly as he went
uneasily up and down the shop, and finally, wi