There were very few persons in her world who had
not, at one time or another, poured their troubles into her ear. She
had that gift, valuable in life beyond all others, of giving herself up
entirely to the person with whom she was talking. When the time came to
give advice the combination of her common sense and her tenderness made
her invaluable. There was no crime black enough, no desertion, no cruelty
horrible enough to outspeed her pity. She hated and understood the sin
and loved and comforted the sinner. With a wide and accurate knowledge of
humanity she combined a deep spiritual belief in the goodness of God.
Everything, however horrible, interested her ... she adored life.
This little person in the straw bonnet and the blue dress gave Peter
something that he had never known before--she mothered him. He sat next to
her at some dinner-party and she asked him to come and have tea with her.
She lived in a little street in Westminster in a tiny house that had her
children on the top floor, a beautiful copy of the Mona Lisa and a very
untidy writing-table on the second, and a little round hall and a tiny
dining-room on the ground floor. Her husband and her family--including an
adorable child of two--were all as amiable as possible.
Peter told her most things on the first day that he had tea with her and
everything on the second.
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