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[[underline]] THE VISITOR. [[/underline]]

About this time I made my father's acquaintance. I only remembered him as a dim figure in my early life, but my mother had always spoken of him in such uncomplimentary terms that when he profited by her absence in Europe to visit me at the school, the present of a box of caramels was needed to induce me to go down to the reception room. Belonging to [[strikethrough]] a [[/strikethrough]] one parent was a disagreeable experience, I had no desire to belong to another. So when the somewhat bald gentleman with the long, drooping moustaches came forward to greet me, I was strongly antagonistic. Perhaps he understood what was passing through my mind for he conversed most of the time with the principal. Before leaving, however, he spoke to me of my gift for drawing and of his admiration for Gustave Dore.

These visits continued from time to time but brought neither pleasure nor assurance of any kind. I can now realize that he showed courage in braving my mother's disapproval; all he had to live on was the pension she allowed him. I might add that, subsequently, when she heard of these visits I was the one to receive the full brunt of her displeasure. How she expected me to act under the circumstances remains a mystery.

Aunts and cousins, hitherto unknown, on my father's side, now came forward with presents and invitations. The old religious grandmother who had so influenced my brother's life wrote long religious letters. These caused me such concern that I remember asking aid when faced with the task of answering them. But all these kindly-intentioned relatives dissolved like mist before my mother. At critical moments of my life they became invisible. They were unable to face my realities.