.

So now you know why I'm glad about Windsor Castle." "I'm afraid it is not quite clear to me yet," said Nurse Branscome, leading her on.
"I can't 'splain very well."-- The child could never quite compass the sound "ex" in words where a consonant followed.--"I'm no good at 'splaining.

But I guess if the job was up to you to make peace for all-over-the-world, you'd want to sit in a big place, sort of empty an' quiet, an' feel like God." Corona gazed out of window again.
"You can tell he's been at it, too, hereabouts; but somehow I didn't 'spect it to be all lying about in little bits." They alighted from the idling train at a small country station embowered in roses, the next on this side of Merchester and but a short three-quarters of a mile from St.Hospital, towards which they set out on foot by a meadow-path and over sundry stiles, a porter following (or rather making a _detour_ after them along the high road) and wheeling Corona's effects on a barrow.

From the first stile Nurse Branscome pointed out the grey Norman buildings, the chapel tower, the clustering trees; and supported Corona with a hand under her elbow as, perched on an upper bar with her knees against the top rail, she drank in her first view of home.
Her first comment--it shaped itself into a question, or rather into two questions--gave Nurse Branscome a shock: it was so infantile in comparison with her talk in the train.
"Does daddy live there?
And is he so very old, then ?" Then Nurse Branscome bethought her that this mite had never yet seen her father, and that he was not only an aged man but a broken-down one, and in appearance (as they say) older than his years.
A great pity seized her for Corona, and in the rush of pity all her oddities and grown-up tricks of speech (Americanisms apart) explained themselves.

She was an old father's child.