"I wanted such charming children," I explained--"my idea of charming
children: the children I had imagined for myself. Even as babies
you disappointed me."
Robina looked astonished.
"You, Robina, were the most disappointing," I complained. "Dick was
a boy. One does not calculate upon boy angels; and by the time
Veronica arrived I had got more used to things. But I was so excited
when you came. The Little Mother and I would steal at night into the
nursery. 'Isn't it wonderful,' the Little Mother would whisper, 'to
think it all lies hidden there: the little tiresome child, the
sweetheart they will one day take away from us, the wife, the
mother?' 'I am glad it is a girl,' I would whisper; 'I shall be able
to watch her grow into womanhood. Most of the girls one comes across
in books strike one as not perhaps quite true to life. It will give
me such an advantage having a girl of my own. I shall keep a note-
book, with a lock and key, devoted to her.'"
"Did you?" asked Robina.
"I put it away," I answered; "there were but a few pages written on.
It came to me quite early in your life that you were not going to be
the model heroine. I was looking for the picture baby, the clean,
thoughtful baby, with its magical, mystical smile. I wrote poetry
about you, Robina, but you would slobber and howl. Your little nose
was always having to be wiped, and somehow the poetry did not seem to
fit you.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144