"Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to. You think you love this other man! No doubt you do love him. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. “I don’t want children, Lucy. Of course, I don't believe she's what you would call flush.
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