My step-mother loved the world and its pleasures better than husband, children, and home.

She had children of her own, who were more the objects of her pride than her love.

Every day, they were dressed for exhibition, petted and caressed, and then sent back to the nursery, where they could not interfere with the pleasures of their fashionable mamma.

Could I expect those tender cares which the yearning heart of childhood craves, as its daily sustenance?
She was not harsh or despotic, but careless and indifferent.

She did not care for me; and provided I kept out of her way, she was willing I should amuse myself in the best manner I pleased.