He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utter loneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the father visited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below their actual importance.
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