"She wanted to know if Christ's brothers ever were married and if they had children."
"Did she, indeed! Well—well!"
"Aunt Ann asked her why she wanted to know that, and Leila said it was because she was thinking how Christ must have loved them, and maybe that was why He was so fond of little children. Now, I couldn't have thought that."
"Nor I," said Rivers. "She will care more for people—oh, many people—and by and by for things, events and the large aspects of life, but she is as yet undeveloped."
John was clear that he did not want her to like many people, but he was inclined to keep this to himself and merely said, "I don't quite understand."
"No, perhaps I was a little vague. Leila is at the puzzling age. You will find her much altered in a year."
"I won't like that."
"Well, perhaps not. But you too have changed a good deal since you came.
You were a queer young prig."
"I was—I was indeed."
Then they were silent a while. John thought of his mother who had left him to the care of tutors and schools while she led a wandering, unhappy, invalid life. He remembered the Alps and the spas and her fretful care of his very good health, and then the delight of being free and surrounded with all a boy desires, and at last Leila and the wonderful hair on the snow-drift.