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brighter topic.’
‘You were always bright; I used to be proud of your
brightness. I should like so much to think you’d do some-
thing.’
‘If you leave us,’ said Ralph, ‘I shall do nothing but miss
you.’
‘That’s just what I don’t want; it’s what I want to talk
about. You must get a new interest.’
‘I don’t want a new interest, daddy. I have more old ones
than I know what to do with.’
The old man lay there looking at his son; his face was
the face of the dying, but his eyes were the eyes of Daniel
Touchett. He seemed to be reckoning over Ralph’s interests.
‘Of course you have your mother,’ he said at last. ‘You’ll take
care of her.’
‘My mother will always take care of herself,’ Ralph re-
turned.
‘Well,’ said his father, ‘perhaps as she grows older she’ll
need a little help.’
‘I shall not see that. She’ll outlive me.’
‘Very likely she will; but that’s no reason-!’ Mr. Touchett
let his phrase die away in a helpless but not quite querulous
sigh and remained silent again.
‘Don’t trouble yourself about us,’ said his son. ‘My moth-
er and I get on very well together, you know.’
‘You get on by always being apart; that’s not natural.’
‘If you leave us we shall probably see more of each oth-
er.’
‘Well,’ the old man observed with wandering irrelevance,

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