“One may have one’s own children and yet have to take care of the others, too, you know, Alix,” Mrs. Bradley smiled, finishing her tea and taking up a packet of case papers. “All these are other people’s children.” “One needn’t care for one’s own, or for other people’s unless one wants to,” Rosemary commented. “People specialize nowadays and know that some women are maternal and some aren’t. I’m sure I’m not. I couldn’t be bothered with children, or with a husband either—It’s as good as a play to hear you talk, you know, Alix—all your quaint French ideas. What can one hope of a nation that still has them!—Cradles, hearthstones, hubby’s socks to mend;—that’s what really appeals to you, I suppose.” “What appeals to me is to be established,” said Alix. “I do not care for babies; but they are a part of marriage, and no doubt one would come to like them when one had them. As for the socks—I should hope to marry well enough to have a maid to do that.” Rosemary’s eyes rounded. “You mean you’d marry for money?” Alix smiled: “You are so _réaliste_ in some ways, Rosemary, and so romantic in others.” “I hope, dear, you’d never think of marrying for money,” Mrs. Bradley put in. “Money is a very minor consideration in marriage.” “Romantic! I romantic!—It’s merely a question of one’s own dignity!” cried Rosemary; while Alix said: “There would have to be character and taste and position as well;—but don’t you think, _chère Madame_, that it is well to marry suitably?” “Suitably? Yes, of course.” Mrs. Bradley was gently bewildered. “But the most suitable thing of all is to marry someone one loves.” Alix, in silence, wondered. * * * * * Mr. Westmacott seemed a little better now. She went to the Rectory twice a week and read aloud in French to him and Toppie. He seemed to enjoy it and followed if she read very slowly and distinctly. Toppie sat, her fair head bent over her knitting. She was knitting endless little vests for the poor babies of one of Mrs. Bradley’s charities. Alix wondered sometimes what was to become of all those babies. Were they passed on from Mrs. Bradley to more Mrs. Bradleys, until, at last, in one of the hospitals administered by the Aunt Bellas, they closed their eyes? Would some be good citizens and some mere beasts of burden, and some, perhaps, thieves and scoundrels? All were to begin with those little snowy woollen vests, and all were to end in coffins. It made her feel strange to think of it. But when she expressed something of these thoughts to Toppie one day, Toppie looked at her very gravely, and said: “They are all to end in heaven, Alix. We are all of us only that; souls setting out on our journey.” But Alix found it so difficult to think of some people as souls.