hat, and her blue scarf fell about her. Something tugged at my heart as
I looked at her. With that little head in the hollow of her arm she was
the eternal mother.

I saw Anthony approaching. He stopped, and I caught his words. "You must
come now, Nancy. I am saving a seat for you."

She shook her head, and looked down at the child. "I told his nurse to
go and he is almost asleep."

He flung himself away from her and came over to me. "I have good seats
for both of you in the enclosure. But Nancy won't go."

I rose and went with him, although I should have been content to sit
there by the fish pond and feast my eyes on Nancy.

"It is perfectly silly of her to stay," Anthony fumed as we walked on
together.

"But she loves the children."

"I hate children."

I am sure that he did not mean it. What he hated was the fact that the
child had for the moment held Nancy from him. It was as if, looking
forward into the future, he could see like moments, and set himself
against the thought of any interruption of what might be otherwise an
untrammeled and independent partnership. He had, I think, little
jealousy where men were concerned. He was willing to give Nancy the
reins and let her go, believing that she would inevitably come back to