And it was.
When Mr. Cartaret saw his youngest daughter for the first time since
their violent rupture he gazed at her tranquilly and said, "And where
have _you_ been all this time?"
"Not very far, Papa."
He smiled sweetly.
"I thought you'd run away from your poor old father. Let me see--was
it Ally? My memory's going. No. It was Gwenda who ran away. Wasn't it
Gwenda?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Well--she must come back again. I can't do without Gwenda."
"She has come back, Papa."
"She's always coming hack. But she'll go away again. Where is she?"
"I'm here, Papa dear."
"Here one minute," said the Vicar, "and gone the next."
"No--no. I'm not going. I shall never go away and leave you."
"So you say," said the Vicar. "So you say."
He looked round uneasily.
"It's time for Ally to go to bed. Has Essy brought her milk?"
His head bowed to his breast. He fell into a doze. Ally watched.
And in the outer room Gwenda and Steven Rowcliffe talked together.
"Steven--he's always going on like that. It breaks my heart."
"I know, dear, I know."
"Do you think he'll ever remember?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
Then they sat together without speaking. She was thinking: "How good
he is. Surely I may love him for his goodness?" And he that the old
man in there had solved _his_ problem, but that his own had been taken
out of his hands.
And he saw no solution.
If the Vicar had gone away and taken Gwenda with him, that would have
solved it.
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