Poor Winifred was like a fish out of water in this liberty, gasping for
the denser element which should contain her. Till her child came. And
then she knew that she must be responsible for it, that she must have
authority over it.

But here Egbert silently and negatively stepped in. Silently, negatively,
but fatally he neutralized her authority over her children.

There was a third little girl born. And after this Winifred wanted no
more children. Her soul was turning to salt.

So she had charge of the children, they were her responsibility. The
money for them had come from her father. She would do her very best for
them, and have command over their life and death. But no! Egbert would
not take the responsibility. He would not even provide the money. But he
would not let her have her way. Her dark, silent, passionate authority he
would not allow. It was a battle between them, the battle between liberty
and the old blood-power. And of course he won. The little girls loved him
and adored him. 'Daddy! Daddy!' They could do as they liked with him.
Their mother would have ruled them. She would have ruled them
passionately, with indulgence, with the old dark magic of parental
authority, something looming and unquestioned and, after all, divine: if
we believe in divine authority. The Marshalls did, being Catholic.

And Egbert, he turned her old dark, Catholic blood-authority into a sort
of tyranny. He would not leave her her children. He stole them from her,
and yet without assuming responsibility for them. He stole them from her,
in emotion and spirit, and left her only to command their behaviour. A
thankless lot for a mother. And her children adored him, adored him,
little knowing the empty bitterness they were preparing for themselves