Treffry; the same slow way of
speaking, with a hesitation, and a trick of repeating your name with
everything he says; left-handed too, and the same slow twinkle in his
eyes. He has a dark, short beard, and red-brown cheeks; is a little bald
on the temples, and a bit grey, but hard as iron. He rides over nearly
every day, attended by a black spaniel with a wonderful nose and a horror
of petticoats. He has told me lots of good stories of John Ford in the
early squatter's times; his feats with horses live to this day; and he
was through the Maori wars; as Dan says, "a man after Uncle Nic's own
heart."

They are very good friends, and respect each other; Dan has a great
admiration for the old man, but the attraction is Pasiance. He talks
very little when she's in the room, but looks at her in a sidelong,
wistful sort of way. Pasiance's conduct to him would be cruel in any one
else, but in her, one takes it with a pinch of salt. Dan goes off, but
turns up again as quiet and dogged as you please.

Last night, for instance, we were sitting in the loggia after supper.
Pasiance was fingering the strings of her violin, and suddenly Dan (a
bold thing for him) asked her to play.

"What!" she said, "before men? No, thank you!"

"Why not?"

"Because I hate them."

Down came John Ford's hand on the wicker table: "You forget yourself! Go
to bed!"

She gave Dan a look, and went; we could hear her playing in her bedroom;
it sounded like a dance of spirits; and just when one thought she had
finished, out it would break again like a burst of laughter. Presently,
John Ford begged our pardons ceremoniously, and stumped off indoors. The
violin ceased; we heard his voice growling at her; down he came again.
Just as he was settled in his chair there was a soft swish, and something
dark came falling through the apple boughs. The violin! You should have
seen his face! Dan would have picked the violin up, but the old man
stopped him. Later, from my bedroom window, I saw John Ford come out and
stand looking at the violin. He raised his foot as if to stamp on it. At
last he picked it up, wiped it carefully, and took it in....

My room is next to hers. I kept hearing her laugh, a noise too as if she
were dragging things about the room. Then I fell asleep, but woke with a
start, and went to the window for a breath of fresh air. Such a black,
breathless night! Nothing to be seen but the twisted, blacker branches;
not the f