"I do not think either you or Fanny have had much to do with children," she said. "It is all very well to have them with you for a few hours at a time, when they are in their best frocks and on their best behaviour, and you have nothing to do with them except amuse them. But when you have the whole responsibility of a child, and are obliged to look after her from morning till night, it is a very different thing."
"Of course it is," said Miss Lucretia.
It was that very fact, comprising as it did the constant demand on time and thought and labour, with all the rich reward of corresponding affection from the child in its dependence, that made the sweetness of this dream of motherhood. But Lucretia could not put this into words. She was never very fluent with her deeper ideas, which were, perhaps, instincts rather than formulated notions, and she was least fluent of all with Constantia.
"And how could you ever afford it?" went on Mrs. Dalrymple.
Lucretia explained her scheme of retrenchment, and all her little plans.
"But you won't be able to go on dressing Amy with your old things for ever," said Constantia. "And, then, there will be hats and boots and shoes.
"She may be ill, too; children have to go through measles and whooping-cough, and that sort of thing: how will you afford to pay the doctor?"
Lucretia was silent for a moment; Constantia had such a very convincing way of saying things, and making all that was unpractical and visionary appear so; but she was not really vanquished.
"I think one must trust for that——" she began, at which Constantia smiled again.
"How about schooling, too? A girl's education is a very expensive thing nowadays. I am sure Edie and Gwendoline have cost us as much as the boys."