Cecily sighed. “I know you’re happy,” she said, “and I’m happy. But this thing that came up to-night isn’t new. I hear it from other people--people who talk about my being ‘tied down’ and say I ought to enjoy myself while I’m young; people who say that they never see you about any more and talk about how you used to enjoy dancing and such things; women who say they don’t intend to have babies. You’ve no idea how they talk.” “Haven’t I? Don’t I get the looks from the women who imply I’m some sort of monster because you have three children at your age?” “I love the children. I couldn’t not have them.” “Now, look here, Cecily, you’re tired out to-night. The worry of that new maid and the change in the baby’s feeding have left you flat. You just stop worrying about all this. We’ve been over it before, you know, lots of times, and we like our way of doing things. We may be a little out of fashion--we may not do things just as other people are doing them, but we are doing them the way we want to do them and that ought to satisfy us. I’m absolutely with you and I’m not hankering after any gay society. I do think we ought to get out as much as we can--for your sake--but while these kids are small and with the damned lack of servants--or lack of damned servants--we’ll just have to stay by the ship. And you mustn’t worry.” All of which was very logical and straight. Only Cecily had developed a little taste for virtue and the praise of virtue and the fact that they had chosen their own way was not enough. She wanted to be reassured that they had chosen the higher and better way and Dick should not have qualified by saying that they should go out as much as possible. However, he had stated the case, and Cecily was reasonable enough to know it. She lay awake rather late, pondering things--whether things weren’t a bit unjust, since Fliss and her kind (she wanted to pin the problem down to Fliss somehow) had such a good time without responsibilities--what men liked in women and why Fliss looked so well in flame colored things--whether Matthew wanted children and wasn’t secretly unhappy. Finally, catching herself in the midst of a picture of Fliss miserable in a childless old age while she herself--she laughed, proving that she had that sense of humor which her stepfather had questioned once, said aloud, “Can this be the fair Wendy?” and went to sleep. CHAPTER XIII