Men she regarded as children. Her mental attitude towards them was that of "boys will be boys," and they might be bald and stout, Generals or Viceroys or Secretaries of State in their public capacity—but did such an one become Mrs. Cushion’s lodger she instantly felt called upon to stand between him and every discomfort, to condone his vagaries, and to give him, so far as was humanly possible, every mortal thing he wanted. Small wonder that her "fishing-gentlemen" took her rooms months before-hand and year after year. "I don’t suppose as you’ve noticed, miss, being, so to speak, unmarried yourself—but there’s something in men-folk as seems to stop growin’ when they be about ten year old. It crops up different in different sorts, but it’s there all the same in all of ’em. And when it crops up—no matter if ’e be hever so majestical an’ say nothing to nobody, the seein’ eye can figure ’im out in tore knickerbockers an’ a dirty face same as if he stood in front of you—more especially if you’ve ’ad little boys of your own." "I suppose," I said—perhaps a bit wistfully, for Mrs. Cushion was rather fond of referring to my spinsterhood—"it does make a great difference.... First you know your husband so well, and then your sons.... By the way, what was your husband, Mrs. Cushion?" Mrs. Cushion turned very red and was manifestly uncomfortable. "I’d rather not talk about ’im, miss," she said hastily. "He weren’t an overly good ’usban’ to me ... but the children..." Here Mrs. Cushion beamed, and with restored tranquillity continued, "The children ’ave made it all up to me over and over." Yet from an outsider’s point of view, especially from that of one who was "so to speak unmarried," Mrs. Cushion didn’t seem to get any great benefit from her two sons. One was in Australia and one in Canada, and though she had been living in Redmarley some six years, I could not discover that either had ever been home. They were not, I gathered, particularly good correspondents, nor did they seem to assist their mother in any way financially, or send presents home. All the same, they were a source of pride and joy to Mrs. Cushion, and a never-failing topic of conversation. In fact, I think that one of the things that caused her to tolerate my sex and my spinsterhood was the real interest I took in Arty and Bert, and my readiness to talk about either or both at all times. They were never quite clear to me, and this was odd, because Mrs. Cushion was certainly graphic and vivid in her descriptions as a rule. She would never show me their portraits because she said they "took badly," both of them. By my third August I could have passed a stiff examination in her "gentlemen." I felt that I knew _them_ intimately, both as to their appearance, manners, and taste both in viands and beverages.