Was _she_ so certain, so serene?
"What do I know of her ?" he asked.

"Little or nothing," he sadly replied.

And he tried to piece together from things she had told him her life as it had passed him by.

Had there been no questionings, no sharp disillusionments?
There must have been.

He recalled irritabilities, small acts and exclamations of impatience, boredom, "blues." And as he watched her he grew sure that his daughter's existence had been like his own.