I finished Childe Harold early in the morning, though, and went down to breakfast, longing to be a wreck! The three children were in the breakfast-room, which was not the one we had taken tea in, but a small apartment, with a door opening into the garden.

They were beautifully dressed, and their mother was tending and watching them.

The oldest was eight years, the youngest three months.

Cousin Alice gave us descriptions of their tastes and habits, dwelling with emphasis on those of the baby.

I drew from her conversation the opinion that she had a tendency to the rearing of children.