“What wretched poverty of expression!” Hadria complained. “I ask for bread, and truly you give me a stone.”
Joseph Fleming eyed his companion askance. “I—I admire your boys immensely, as you know,” he said.
“Not enough, not enough.”
“What can I say more?”
“A mother has to find in her children all that she can hope to find in life, and she naturally desires to make the most of them, don’t you see?”
“Ah! yes, quite so,” said Joseph dubiously.
“Nobody, I suppose, likes to be commonplace all round; one must have some poetry somewhere—so most women idealize their children, and if other people won’t help them in the effort, don’t you see? it is most discouraging.”
“Are you chaffing, or what?” Joseph enquired.
“No, indeed; I am perilously serious.”
“I can well understand how a mother must get absorbed in her children,” said Joseph. “I suppose it’s a sort of natural provision.”