for me, and it's an infernal shame."

Joan read on patiently, glancing from time to time at the man who
seemed to her to be older than the hills, startlingly, terribly old,
and stopped only when, having lowered himself into his arm-chair, he
seemed to have fallen asleep. Then, as usual, she laid the paper aside,
eager to be up and doing, but sat on, fearful of moving. Her
grandfather had a way of looking as though he would never wake up
again, and of being as ready as a tiger to pounce upon her if she tried
to slip away. She would never forget some of the sarcastic things he
had said at these times, never! He seemed to take an unexplainable
delight in making her feel that she had no right to be so young. He had
never confided to her the tragedy of having a young mind and an old
body, young desires and winter in his blood. He had never opened the
door in his fourth wall and let her see how bitterly he resented having
been forced out of life and the great chase, to creep like an old hound
the ancient dogs among. He had never let her suspect that the tragedy
of old age had hit him hard, filling his long hours with regret for
what he might have done or done better. Perhaps he was ashamed to
confess these things that were so futile and so foolish. Perhaps he was
afraid to earn a young incredulous laugh at the pathetic picture of
himself playing Canute with the on-coming tide of years. He was not
understood by this girl, because he had never allowed her to get a
glimpse into his heart; and so she failed to know that he insisted upon
keeping her in his house, even to the point of extreme selfishness,
because he lived his youth over again in the constant sight of her.
What a long and exquisite string of pearls there could be made of our
unspoken words!

The logs glowed red; the hard tick of the pompous clock marked off the
precious moments; and outside, spring had come. But Joan sat on with
mutinous thoughts, and the man who not so long ago had stalked the
beasts whose heads and skins were silent reminders of his strength, lay
back in his chair with nodding head.

"He's old," she said to herself, "dreadfully, awfully old, and he's
punishing me for being young. Oh! It's wicked, it's wicked. If only I
had a father to spoil me and let me live! If only Mother hadn't
forgotten all about me in her own happiness! If only I had money of my
own and could run away and join the throng!"

She heard a sigh that was almost a groan, turn