“Daddy,” she cried from the doorway, and she ran to him sobbing as if her heart would break. “Daddy — daddy — daddy.”

She crouched on the hearthrug with her arms round him and her face against him. His body was so big and comfortable. But something hurt her head intolerably. She sobbed almost with hysteria.

He was silent, with his hand on her shoulder. His heart was bleak. He was not her father. That beloved image she had broken. Who was he then? A man put apart with those whose life has no more developments. He was isolated from her. There was a generation between them, he was old, he had died out from hot life.

A great deal of ash was in his fire, cold ash. He felt the inevitable coldness, and in bitterness forgot