‘I am so glad you think so, dear,’ responded Gundred with an air of relief. ‘One is so glad if ever one can give the poor things some little extra pleasure. It is quite one of the compensations of one’s life--yes?’ ‘But, then--these mothers--are they paupers, or what?’ ‘Oh, dear me, no! They are the most excellent creatures--quite rich and comfortable, most of them. They generally live in Kensington or Campden Hill, and they are all so much interested in children and education. But, of course, they don’t often get inside a house like this, so that one is anxious to do whatever one can to make it a delightful memory for them. I have got myself such a charming frock, dear, to give them another little enjoyment to remember afterwards. Really, you know, it soon comes quite easy to think of others and forget one’s self. One makes a habit of unselfishness--at least, one must try to, in one’s own small way--and God is very good about helping them who try to help themselves.’ Kingston did not take the trouble to endorse this sentiment, and Gundred did not wait for him to do so. She knew it was too sound to need any such endorsement--so obvious, indeed, that she had only thrown it out in obedience to her unvarying custom of trying to improve her husband whenever she could. ‘Well,’ she went on, after a pause, ‘I must really go about my duties now. One has so much to do. I don’t suppose I shall see you again, dear, shall I, before you start? I hope you will have a delightful day. Do take care of your poor eyes. And give my love to Jim, and tell him always to change his boots when he comes in, and be sure to read his Chapter morning and evening; he will find it such a help. And say how we are looking forward to the holidays--yes?’