picturing him; indeed, the lines on his little, rather wizened face, and
the minute sproutings of grey-white hair in certain spots on his reddish
chin, where he had shaved himself badly, caused her somehow to feel
quite sad. She thought of him as "a dear old thing," and then as "a dear
old darling." Yes, old, very old! Nevertheless, she felt maternal
towards him. She felt that she was much wiser than he was, and that she
could teach him a great deal. She saw very clearly how wrong he and her
mother had been, with their stupidly terrific quarrel; and the notion of
all the happiness which he had missed, in his solitary, unfeminised,
bachelor existence, nearly brought into her eyes tears of a quick and
generous sympathy.

He, blind and shabby ancient, had no suspicion that his melancholy state
and the notion of all the happiness he had missed had tinged with sorrow
the heart within the frock, and added a dangerous humidity to the glance
under the sunshade. It did not occur to him that he was an object of
pity, nor that a vast store of knowledge was waiting to be poured into
him. The aged, self-satisfied wag-beard imagined that he had conducted
his career fairly well. He knew no one with whom he would have changed
places. He regarded Helen as an extremely agreeable little thing, with
her absurd air of being grown-up. Decidedly in five years she had
tremendously altered. Five years ago she had been gawky. Now ... Well,
he was proud of her. She had called him great-stepuncle, thus conferring
on him a sort of part-proprietorship in her; and he was proud of her.
The captain of the bowling-club came along, and James Ollerenshaw gave
him just such a casual nod as he might have given to a person of no
account. The nod seemed to say: "Match this, if you can. It's mine, and
there's nothing in the town to beat it. Mrs. Prockter herself hasn't got
more style than this." (Of this Mrs. Prockter, more later.)