"She was a good woman."
"Did you like her?"
"Yes, Theresa, I did, but for many years I hated that book, and I made up my mind that my little girls should only read it when they wanted to."
Blown by winds of imagination, Theresa veered from the subject.
"What was grandfather like? Was he nice?"
"He was the most delightful man I ever knew." There was a noticeable change in Edward Webb's enthusiasm for this parent. "I wish you had known him, Theresa. You would have been such friends."
"Tell me." And "Tell me," she urged again, when her father had smiled too long at his memories.
"He was a musician and a poet, my dear. He played the organ at the cathedral, and he wrote songs, music, and words. I can see him now as he sat at the piano, playing and singing, trying to make your grandmother laugh."
"Why wouldn't she?"
"Because she didn't always approve, I'm afraid. They were very often about her, too." He chuckled at another recollection.