She stood on the threshold in her night-dress, as she had climbed out of bed, black eyes staring round and hostile, her fair hair sticking out in a wild fleece. The man and child confronted each other.

“I want my mother,” she said, jealously accenting the “my”.

“Come on then,” he said gently.

“Where's my mother?”

“She's here — come on.”

The child's eyes, staring at the man with ruffled hair and beard, did not change. The mother's voice called softly. The little bare feet entered the room with trepidation.

“Mother!”

“Come, my dear.”