"I didn't think that when I saw it," Mrs. Hugh answered simply. "You are very good-looking, my dear." At thirty-one Edith Greene was strikingly handsome. Tall, robust, but not yet giving the impression of set solidity that increasingly marred her looks, she carried herself so well that the florid fashions of 1910 did not spoil the lines of her figure. Her colouring was lovely: dark hair and dark eyes deepened by the steady, warm glow in her cheeks; and her features were well marked but not heavy, though the mouth was set in lines of command and resolution. Mrs. Hugh looking at the portrait of Edith and her children, and then turning to look at Edith standing by her side, noticed this accent of command, of over-emphasised self-confidence, but she only said, "Yes, I think it is an excellent piece of work." "Of course Lavinia is really the keynote of the whole thing," Edith began eagerly. "You see how she's turned her little head to smile up at me, and how confident she looks. That was quite spontaneous. She was posed looking straight ahead like the boys, but at the second sitting she just put herself like that. It seemed almost a tribute to me, Aunt Sarah; it's wonderful when your child shows its confidence and love." "Yes, I see," said Mrs. Hugh. "Lavinia is certainly a dear gay little creature." "Would you call her expression gay?" asked Edith, disappointed. "It seems much more than that to me." Mrs Hugh turned to Edith. "My dear," she said, "I don't approve of interfering and giving advice, and I've got no children of my own, so I'm really not qualified to speak, but I've sometimes wondered if you're not perhaps a little greedy with your children." She spoke gently, but the word struck Edith like a blow. Her face flushed deeply, but she answered coldly and politely: "I don't think I quite understand you, Aunt Sarah." "You're an excellent mother, I know," said Mrs. Hugh, "And you must just forgive me for criticising you, but my dear, I think perhaps you enjoy too much the mere fact of being a mother, and that is apt to make you expect too much from your children; not too much affection of course, but too much faith and admiration." "I think it only natural to encourage my children to have faith in me." "Of course you do, but let them know you're fallible, Edith. It only makes for unhappiness to bring them up to believe you are always right. It isn't natural." "I would think it more unnatural if they didn't trust their mother, Aunt Sarah." "My dear Edith, you don't quite understand me. I'm only hoping that on the one hand you'll let them develop along their own lines, and that on the other hand you won't take their natural love for you as anything so important as a tribute; I think that was the word you used." "Perhaps it isn't quite easy for us to understand each other on the subject of my feelings for my children. Shall we go upstairs now?"