She loved his strange thoughts as she loved his strange beauty, his
reddish yellow hair, his light hazel eyes that were not hers and not
Anthony's.

"What will you do, sweetheart, all afternoon, without Nicky and Dorothy
and Mary-Nanna?"

"I don't want Nicky and Dorothy and Mary-Nanna. I want Myself. I want to
play with Myself."

She thought: "Why shouldn't he? What right have I to say these things to
him and make him cry, and send him to stupid parties that he doesn't
want to go to? After all, he's only a little boy."

She thought of Michael, who was seven, as if he were younger than
Nicholas, who was only five.

* * * * *

Nicky was different. You could never tell what Michael would take it
into his head to think. You could never tell what Nicky would take it
into his head to do. There was no guile in Michael. But sometimes there
was guile in Nicky. Frances was always on the look out for
Nicky's guile.

So when Michael remarked that Grannie and the Aunties would be there
immediately and Nicky said, "Mummy, I think my ear is going to ache,"
her answer was--"You won't have to stay more than a minute, darling."

For Nicky lived in perpetual fear that his Auntie Louie might kiss at