with his returned son and his son's wife--would irritate him into flings
and jerks and wicked side glances. He would dash his spade into
the ground and walk to and fro before it. Miss Bessie called it his
tantrums. She shook her finger at him. Then, when she came out again,
after he had parted with her in anger, he would watch out of the corner
of his eyes for the least sign of encouragement to approach the iron
railings and resume his fatherly and patronising relations.

For all their intimacy, which had lasted some years now, they had never
talked without a fence or a railing between them. He described to her
all the splendours accumulated for the setting-up of their housekeeping,
but had never invited her to an inspection. No human eye was to behold
them till Harry had his first look. In fact, nobody had ever been
inside his cottage; he did his own housework, and he guarded his son's
privilege so jealously that the small objects of domestic use he bought
sometimes in the town were smuggled rapidly across the front garden
under his canvas coat. Then, coming out, he would remark apologetically,
"It was only a small kettle, my dear."

And, if not too tired with her drudgery, or worried beyond endurance by
her father, she would laugh at him with a blush, and say: "That's all
right, Captain Hagberd; I am not impatient."

"Well, my dear, you haven't long to wait now," he would answer with a
sudden bashfulness, and looking uneasily, as though he had suspected
that there was something wrong somewhere.

Every Monday she paid him his rent over the railings. He clutched
the shillings greedily. He grudged every penny he had to spend on his
maintenance, and when he left her to make his purchases his bearing