Philip Stellenthorpe desired a grandson. He told Lily sadly that his own son was causing him great anxiety.
"He sometimes almost seems to be growing up a heartless little boy."
"You know, Father, Kenneth isn't really a little boy at all, now."
"He will always be a little boy to me," returned her father with simplicity. "When, please God, you have your own child, Lily, you'll know that's one of the sad and beautiful things about the parents of a child. To them, he never really grows up. They always see him as the dear little baby they took care of, and petted, and loved."
"Kenneth wouldn't like that, you know, Father. He doesn't really want to be taken care of, now. I think, in fact, that he resents being treated as though he were still a child."
"It's very ungrateful," said Philip, shaking his head. "Ungrateful and heartless. You were not like that, my little Lily."
"I was a girl, not a boy."
She hesitated, and then the thought of Kenneth made her speak.
"But, Father, sometimes I've wished that I was rather more like Kenneth. He's honest, anyway. He wants to develop into an individual with characteristics and opinions and beliefs of his own. I know Kenneth is often conceited and—and tiresome, but I don't really think he's heartless."
"Then what is he, pray? What is his persistent refusal to confide in me, to follow the advice that I'm only too ready to give him, to trust me?"