So Oliver, a little with the sense of his own extreme
generosity, but sincerely enough in the main, began to play kind shepherd,
confidante, referee and second-between-the-rounds to Ted's as yet quite
unexpressed strivings--and since most of him was only too willing to busy
itself with anything but reminiscences of Nancy, be began to congratulate
himself shortly that under his entirely unacknowledged guidance things
really seemed to be getting along very well.
And here too his streak of ineradicable humor--that bright plaything made
out of knives that is so fine to juggle with light-handedly until the hand
meets it in its descent a fraction of a second too soon--came often and
singularly to his aid. He could see himself in a property white beard
stretching feeble hands in blessing over a kneeling and respectful Elinor
and Ted. "Bless you my dear, dear children--for though my own happiness
has gone with yester-year, at least I have made you--find each other--
and perhaps, when you sit at evening among the happy shouts of your
posterity--" but here Oliver broke off into a snort of laughter.