So he thought she must always be, but indeed these meetings meant
very much to her, she dressed for them and staged them, she
perceived the bright advantages of her rarity and she was quite
determined to have her son when the time came to possess him. She
kissed him but not oppressively, she caressed him cleverly; it was
only on these rare occasions that he was ever kissed or caressed,
and she talked to his shy boyishness until it felt a more spirited
variety of manhood. "What have you been doing?" she asked, "since I
saw you last."

She never said he had grown, but she told him he looked tall; and
though the tea was a marvellous display it was never an obtrusive
tea, it wasn't poked at a fellow; a various plenty flowed well
within reach of one's arm, like an agreeable accompaniment to their
conversation.

"What have you done? All sorts of brave things? Do you swim now?
I can swim. Oh! I can swim half a mile. Some day we will swim
races together. Why not? And you ride? . . .

"The horse bolted--and you stuck on? Did you squeak? I stick on,
but I HAVE to squeak. But you--of course, No! you mustn't. I'm
just a little woman. And I ride big horses. . . ."

And for the end she had invented a characteristic little ceremony.

She would stand up in front of him and put her hands on his
shoulders and look into his face.

"Clean eyes?" she would say. "--still?"