"I'm sure of it," and she gave him quite a starry glance. "The truth is, I've spoiled her, Jim. I've treated her too much as a friend—as an equal."
"It can't be done," said Hazlitt, shaking his head.
"It isn't possible to have an equal relation with the younger generation. You've got to go to your contemporaries for friendship, Alita. That was true since the world began; but these young people—"
Mrs. Hazlitt, who was still treating him as if he were an oracle, brightened at these words as if he were an oracle in excellent form.
"Yes," she said, "they are different, aren't they? I can't imagine my ever having spoken to my parents as Lita just spoke to us."
"Your mother! I should say not. One of the greatest ladies I ever met anywhere!"
"Wasn't mother wonderful?" murmured Mrs. Hazlitt, and there was a pause while they both reflected upon common memories.
Then she went on: "I must say I think you are very generous not to criticize me for the way I've brought Lita up. I feel humiliated."
"My dear Alita," said Hazlitt, "I never have criticized you, and I never shall."
"She hurt me terribly, Jim. She seemed so hard, so ruthless, so appraising of things that ought to be held sacred."