t doesn't mean that she loves her
more, or a tenth part as much, but in a curious, inexplicable way she's
_nearer_. It's hard on the parents. Every age has its own trials: love
troubles when you are young; weakness when you are old; when you are
middle-aged it must be just this, to yearn after your children, to long
to help and comfort, and to see them prefer some one else! I'm sorry
for parents; but why do they grow so old? If I have a daughter, I shall
keep young for her sake. At least I shall remember that I _was_ young.
I shall never say: `the rain is coming down in sheets, the wind is in
the east. I can't think why you can't be content by your own fireside,
instead of racing half over the town,' I shan't be overcome with
surprise when she forgets to order the fish on the eve of a proposal, or
expect her to look a fright in mackintosh and goloshes when she goes out
with men friends. I shall remember how I preferred to look nice, even
if my feet _were_ soaked!"

"You may also remember that you suffered from rheumatism thereby, and
wish her to profit from your experience."

"No use, my dear. Her rheumatism's her own, and if it comes she will
bear it, but never my goloshes! A parent can be wise and prosy, and
expound the law; but he can't do more. If he tries, he loses instead of
gains. I shall school myself to the fact that my little girl is bound
to err, and that we are bound to suffer in consequence, she in deed, and
I in looking on. That's the price of being a mother. Then when she's
had her own way and been buffeted, she'll come to me and I'll help her.
Dear little girl!"

The lovely face was aglow with tenderness: it was easy to see that the
maternal instinct was strong in Jean's heart, and that she would rise to
her fullest height as wife and mother. The next moment she raised
herself, flashed an anxious look at Vanna's face, and deftly turned the
conversation.

"Well, anyway you'll see for yourself that Mrs Rendall's a trial. When
she and Miggles get started, don't interrupt--let them have it out by
themselves. Piers loves to listen, and so do I."

The next day an old-fashioned barouche bore the three ladies over
several miles of hilly roads to the square white mansion where the
widowed Mrs Rendall lived in peaceful seclusion from the world. After
the style of old-fashioned houses, it was situated in a hollow,
sheltered from the wind, but also cut off from a view of the surrounding
countr