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.