It is one thing to steal glances at your own reflection when you think no one is looking, quite another to be married to it, though the mirror tell its tale never so constantly. It were too cruel, it were indecent, to write of Gertrude's honeymoon. XXVIII MOTHER AND DAUGHTER _Life . . . is like love. All reason is against it, and all healthy instinct for it._ EREWHON REVISITED. ON hearing of the capture of Streeten, celebrated in the most jubilant strain by Mrs. Folyat, with a magnificently unjust comparison of her new son-in-law with Bennett Lawrie, Minna wrote this letter to Mary: "Mother Bub loves cutting her lamb up into chops. Did she fix him with an eye? You know how she can bore into the back of a man's neck. I'm almost sorry I missed the fun. I suppose she'll be better off than any of us. We're beastly poor, the studio's always in a mess and we can't get it straight. London is amusing but awfully big and callous. It makes you feel that it never cares whether you're there or not, and the river is almost the most human thing in it. Nobody seems to want Basil's work. I suppose there are thousands of Basils all wanting to do the same thing, and I suppose each Basil has a _me_ wanting a great deal to eat and more pleasure and fun than is good for her, and not caring particularly how much of his soul he has to sell to give it her. The Folyats have a certain charm, but we're all selfish--except, of course, dear old Ma, who always would have it that we got our wickedness from Pa. Mother Bub has the charm of a basilisk, or a fly-paper. I hope she will come to London, as it will be nice to borrow money from her. Dearest love, Mottle dear, M. P.S.--Basil has just sold a drawing. Sausages and mashed for supper! Also beer! P.P.S.--Did Bennett go to the wedding? How grateful he must have been to Streeten for stepping into his shoes. P.P.P.S.--I wouldn't get married if I were you. And to think I might have been a Countess! Willie Folyat lives in London--the Hearl of Leedham, if you please. I hear he's turned out a horrid little prig. I knew he would, I felt it in my bones. I have such clever bones. M. H."