was a man and had silly mannish
prejudices, but then without them he would not be so lovable. Her
children--two boys and two girls--could you find greater darlings if
you spent a week among the well-bred childern playing round the
Round Pond? Such _natural_ children with really original remarks
and untrained ideas; not artificial Peter Pans who wistfully didn't
want to grow up; not slavish little mimics of the Children's stories
in vogue, pretending to play at Red Indians--when every one knew
that Red Indians nowadays dressed like all the other citizens of the
United States and Canada and sat in Congress and cultivated
political "pulls" or sold patent medicines; or who said "Good
hunting" and other Mowgli shibboleths to mystified relations from
the mid-nineteenth century country towns; nor children who teased
the cat or interfered with the cook or stole jam or did anything
else that was obsolete; or decried Sullivan's music in favour of
Debussy's or of Scarlatini's 17th century _tiraliras_; or wore
spectacles and had to have their front teeth in gold clamps. Just
clear-eyed, good-tempered, good-looking, roguish and spontaneously
natural and reasonably self-willed children, who adored their
parents and did not openly mock at the Elishas that called on them.

Then there were Honoria's friends. I gave a sort of list of them in
Chapter II--which I am told has caused considerable offence, not by
what was put _in_ but to those who were left out. But they needn't
mind: if the protesters were nice people according to my standard,
you may be sure Honoria knew them. But of all her friends none was
dearer and closer--save her husband--than Vivie Warren--pal of pals,
brave comrade of the unflinching eyes. And somehow Vivie (since she
fell in love with Michael Rossiter) was ten times dearer than she
had been before: she was more understanding; she had a brighter eye,
a much greater sense of humour; she was tenderer; she liked children
as she never had done in bygone years, and was soon adopted by the
four children in Kensington Square as "Aunt Vivie" (They also--the
two elder ones--had a vague remembrance of an Uncle David who had
brought them toys and sweetmeats in a dim past). Aunt Vivie and
Mummie used to get up the most amusing Suffrage meetings in the
long, narrow garden behind the house; or they combined forces with
Lady Maud Parry, and spoke in lilting contralto or mezzo-soprano
(with the compliant tenor or baritone of here