f).

After dinner, Mrs. Golden was always ready to do whatever Una wished--to
play cribbage, or read aloud, or go for a walk--not a _long_ walk; she
was so delicate, you know, but a nice _little_ walk with her dear, dear
daughter.... For such amusements she was ready to give up all her own
favorite evening diversions--namely, playing solitaire, and reading and
taking nice little walks.... But she did not like to have Una go out and
leave her, nor have naughty, naughty men like Walter take Una to the
theater, as though they wanted to steal the dear daughter away. And she
wore Una's few good frocks, and forgot to freshen them in time for Una
to wear them. Otherwise, Mrs. Golden had the unselfishness of a saint on
a marble pillar.

Una, it is true, sometimes voiced her irritation over her mother's
forgetfulness and her subsequent pathos, but for that bitterness she
always blamed herself, with horror remembered each cutting word she had
said to the Little Mother Saint (as, in still hours when they sat
clasped like lovers, she tremblingly called her).

Sec. 3

Mrs. Golden's demand of Una for herself had never been obvious till it
clashed with Walter's demand.

Una and Walter talked it over, but they seemed mutely to agree, after
the evening of Mrs. Golden and conversation, that it was merely balking
for him to call at the flat. Nor did Una and Mrs. Golden discuss why Mr.
Babson did not come again, or whether Una was seeing him. Una was
accustomed to say only that she would be "away this evening," but over
the teapot she quoted Walter's opinions on Omar, agnosticism, motor
magazines, pipe-smoking, Staten Island, and the Himalayas, and it was
evident that she was often with him.

Mrs. Golden's method of opposition was very simple. Whenever Una
announced that she was going out, her mother's bright, birdlike eyes
filmed over; she sighed and hesitated, "Shall I be alone all
evening--after all day, too?" Una felt like a brute. She tried to get
her mother to go to the Sessionses' flat more often, to make new
friends, but Mrs. Golden had lost all her adaptability. She clung to Una
and to her old furniture as the only recognizable parts of her world.
Often Una felt forced to refuse Walter's invitations; always she refused
to walk with him on the long, splendid Saturday afternoons of freedom.
Nor would she let him come and sit on the roof with her, lest her mother
see them in the hall and be hurt.

So it came to pass that o