ys been to me. If I lost him, I should lose my
all--everything which makes home, home; and life a safe, and certain,
thing. But if _he_ lost little Peter, it would be a more real loss to him
than if he lost me; because Peter is more intelligent for his size, and
really more of an actual companion to Michael, than I am. Many a time,
when he has passed through my room on the way to his, with Peter tucked
securely under his arm; and saying, 'Good-night, my dear,' to me, has
gone in and shut the door, I have felt I could slay little Peter, because
he had the better place, and because he looked at me through his curls,
as he was carried away, as if to say: '_You_ are out of it!' Yet I knew I
had all I deserved; and Michael's kindness and goodness and patience were
beyond words. Only--only--ah, _can_ you understand? I would sooner he had
found fault and scolded; I would sooner have been shaken and called a
fool, than smiled at, and left alone. I was in the nursery when he
married me; I have been in the school-room ever since, trying to learn
life's lessons, alone, without a teacher. Nothing has helped me to grow
up. Michael has always told me I am perfect, and everything I do is
perfect, and he does not want me different. But I have never really
shared his life and interests. If I make idiotic mistakes he does not
correct me. I have to find them out, when I repeat them before others.
When I made that silly blunder about the brazen serpent, you so kindly
put me right. Michael would have smiled and let it pass as not worth
correcting; then I should have repeated it before a roomful of people,
and wondered why they looked amused! Ah, but what do I care for people,
or the world! It is my true place beside Michael I want to win. I want to
'grow up unto him in all things.' Yes, I know that is a text. I am famous
for misquotations, or rather, misapplications. But it expresses my
meaning--as the duchess remarks, when _she_ has said something mild under
provocation, and her parrot swears!--And now tell me, dear wise kind
doctor; you, who have been the lifelong friend of that grand creature,
Jane Dalmain; you, who have done so much for dozens of women I know; tell
me how I can cease to be inadequate towards my husband."

The passionate flow of words ceased suddenly. Lady Ingleby leaned back
against the cushions.

Peter sighed in his sleep.

A clock in the hall chimed the quarter after six.

The doctor looked steadily into the fire.