hich they might
react in later life. So they were merely registered."

"Ah. In a way that is a pity. Baptism is an impressive moment in the
sensitive consciousness of the infant. It has sometimes been found
to be a sort of lamp shining through the haze of the early memory.
Registration, owing to the non-participation of the infant, is useless
in that way."

"Nan might remember how she kicked me when I short-coated her," Mrs.
Hilary mused, hopefully.

Mr. Cradock flowed on. Mrs. Hilary, listened, assented, was impressed. It
all sounded so simple, so wonderful, even so beautiful. But she thought
once or twice, "He doesn't know Nan."

"Thank you," she said, rising to go when her hour was over. "You have
made me feel so much stronger, as usual. I can't thank you enough for all
you do for me. I could face none of my troubles and problems but for your
help."

"That merely means," said Mr. Cradock, who always got the last word,
"that your ego is at present in what is called the state of infantile
dependence or tutelage. A necessary but an impermanent stage in its
struggle towards the adult level of the reality-principle."

"I suppose so," Mrs. Hilary said. "Good-bye."

"He is too clever for me," she thought, as she went home. "He is often
above my head." But she was used to that in the people she met.

CHAPTER XIII

THE DAUGHTER

1

Mrs. Hilary hated travelling, which is indeed detestable. The Channel was
choppy and she a bad sailor; the train from Calais to Paris continued the
motion, and she remained a bad sailor (bad sailors often do this). She
lay back and smelled salts, and they were of no avail. At Paris she tried
and failed to dine. She passed a wretched night, being of those who
detest nights in trains without _wagons-lits_, but save money by not
having _wagons-lits_, and wonder dismally all night if it is worth it.
Modane in the chilly morning annoyed her as it annoys us all. The customs
people were rude and the other travellers in the way. Mrs. Hilary, who
was not good in crowds, pushed them, getting excited and red in the face.
Psycho-analysis had made her more patient and calm than she had been
before, but even so, neither patient nor calm when it came to jostling
crowds.

"I am not strong enough for all this," she thought, in the Mont Cenis
tunnel.

Rushing out of it into Italy, she thought, "Last time I was here was in
'99, with Richard. If Richard were here now he would help me." He wou