“We shall have to get used to him, Hannah. He seems to have become suddenly a very old boy, a stately and judicious boy.”

Jane was flushed with the happiness of seeing him, the happiness of the occasion, for John always made his visits an occasion. Jane thought he was the most human and lovable creature she had ever known. And since he had been about four years old and gone for walks with her, observing everything, they had shared one of those special relationships possible between an old maid and a child, a relationship full of delight for each of them. Now he was taking a little box out of his pocket with that shy, eager look in his eyes she knew well, and was handing it to her.

“You’ve brought me a present!”

“Of course. It’s Thanksgiving, isn’t it? This is a little thanksgiving, Jane. I do hope you will like it.”

Whatever it was, was wrapped in tissue paper, and it took a moment to unwrap.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s a turtle!”

“Indeed it is. It’s a netsuke from Japan, made by a master. Isn’t it great?”

He watched her turn it over, feel the soft boxwood, observe the delicate carving of the paws.

“It’s just what I need, John. I need something to hold in my hand sometimes. How did you guess?—I’m afraid it was frightfully extravagant,” she said.

“Oh, yes, but after all, unlike my revered father, I think money is for spending, not for keeping. You know that, Jane.”

“How is your father? Dear Cornelius, I think of him often—what it must be for that powerful physical person to be limited as he has been.”

“I’ll tell you something—he’s never been better. It’s marvelous to see how he has taken this.” John clasped his hands on his knee and rocked as he did when he was thinking, always had done. “Somehow or other I can talk to him. I never could, you know. Even Mother feels it—except for this damned business about Nick.”

“Yes.” Jane turned the turtle in her hands. “That was a pity. But surely it’s on the way out as a problem.” She gave him a keen look, half closed her eyes and announced: “The beard is all right, John, now I’m used to it.”

“It makes me into a father figure at last.” And he laughed. “The children think it’s a huge joke, but I am sure they are impressed. I might be president of an obscure college, or have just written the definitive work on mushrooms.”

“And Sybille?”

“She doesn’t complain about a prickly kiss now and then.”