Lily's child was a boy.
With his advent, a certain measure of personal happiness came to her, that sometimes made her marvel.
"But after all," she thought, "why should I arrogate to myself the right of deciding what my greatest happiness is to be?"
She looked at the sleeping child, and willed that he might never know the kindly deceits, the sentimental falsities, the arbitrary presentment of a fraction of truth as Truth entire, that had made for the standards of her own youth a foundation of shifting sands.
The long, long way round that it had been to arrive at last at her own convictions, and cease to try and wrench them into line with those of other people!
The baby stirred a little and she bent over him quickly, and as she soothed her child to sleep again, Lily whispered to him:
"You shall belong to yourself. Always."
June 9th, 1920. SINGAPORE.
Feb. 17th, 1921. JOHORE.