"If you don't look more cheerful, Major, I shall cry. I've never
done so yet, but I'm sure I've got it in me."
I stretched out my hand. She took it, and, still holding it,
seated herself on a footstool close to my chair.
"There are such a lot of things that occur to me," I said. "Things
that your poor mother, if she were alive, would be more fitted to
touch on than myself."
"Such as--"
She knelt by me and gave me both her hands. It was a pretty way
she had. She had begun it soon after her head overtopped mine in
my eternal wheelbarrow. There was a little mockery in her eyes.
"Well--" said I. "You know what marriage means. There is the
question of children."
She broke into frank laughter.
"My darling Majy--" That is the penalty one pays for admitting
irresponsible modern young people into one's intimacy. They
miscall one abominably. I thought she had outgrown this childish,
though affectionate appellation of disrespect. "My darling Majy!"
she said. "Children! How many do you think I'm going to have?"
I was taken aback. There was this pure, proud, laughing young face
a foot away from me. I said in desperation:--
"You know very well what I mean, young woman.
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