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.