"And what did you say?"
"I told him I had never met an uncle who didn't adore notebooks, but that few fathers really appreciated them; and then he countered me. He said he had noticed that many fathers were uncles too."
"That child," said Francesca, "will be a Lord Chancellor. He'd look splendid on a woolsack."
"Yes, later on. At present his legs would dangle a bit, wouldn't they?"
"They're very-well-shaped legs, anyhow. Any Lord Chancellor would be proud to possess them."
"To resume," I said, "about the birthday. There's Alice too. She's engaged on some nefarious scheme with a paint-box and a sheet of paper. It's directed at me, I know, because, whenever I approach her, things have to be hustled away or covered up. However, it's all useless. My mind's made up. I will not have a birthday."
"You can't prevent it, you know."
"Yes, I can," I said. "It's mine, and if I decide not to have it nobody can make me."
"But isn't that rather selfish?"
"It can't be selfish of me to deprive myself of a birthday."