Father Payne smiled benignantly at me.  “Yes, I know what you mean, old man,” he said, “and I daresay it is true!  But I mustn’t allow myself to think of such things at my age.  It wouldn’t do.  I’m old enough to be her father—­and she has just had a pretty fancy, that’s all.  It’s rather a romantic setting, this place, you know; and she is hungering and thirsting for all sorts of ideas and beautiful adventures; and she finds a good-humoured old bird like myself, who can give her something of what she wants.  She is fitful and impetuous, and she wants something strong and fatherly to lean upon and to worship, perhaps.  Bless you, I see it all clearly enough!  But put the clock on for a few years:  the charming Phyllis is made for better things than tying my muffler and walking beside my bath-chair.  No, she must have a run for her money.  And what’s more, I’m not sure that I want the sole charge of that sweet nymph—­she would want a lot of response and sympathy and understanding.  It’s altogether too big a job for me, and I don’t feel the call.  What do I want, then, with the pretty child?  Why, I like to be with her, and to see her, and to hear her talk and laugh.  I want to help her along if I can—­she is a high-spirited creature, and will take things hardly.  But I cannot be romantic, and take advantage of a romantic child.  Mind you, I think that these friendships between men and women are good for both, if they aren’t complicated by love:  the worst of it is that passion is a tindery thing, and lights up suddenly when people least expect it.  But I’m too old for all that; and one of the pleasures of growing old is that one can see a beautiful creature like Phyllis—­high-spirited, vivid, full of grace and delight—­without wanting to claim her for one’s own or take her away into a corner.  I’m just glad to be with her, glad to think she is in the world, glad to think she comes direct from the Divine hand.  It moves me tremendously, that flashing and brightening charm of hers—­but I see and feel it, I think, as something beyond and outside of her, which comes as a message to me.  She’s a darling!  But I am not going to interfere with her or complicate her life.  She must find a fit mate, and I am going to let her feel that she can depend on me for any service I can do for her.  I don’t mind saying, old man,” added Father Payne, in a different tone, “that there isn’t a touch of temptation about it all.  I yield in imagination to it quite frankly—­I think how jolly it would be to have a creature like that living in this old house, telling me all she thought about, making a home beautiful.  I could make a very fair lover if I tried!  But I have got myself well in hand, and I know better.  It isn’t what she wants, and it isn’t really what I want.  I have got my work cut out for me; but I’ll give her all I can, and be thankful if she gives me a bit of her heart; and I shall love to think of her going about the world, and reminding everyone she meets of the best and purest sort of beauty.  I love Phyllis with all my old heart—­is that enough for you?—­and a great deal too well to confiscate her, as I should certainly have tried to do twenty years ago.”