He was not bored.
Three pounds a week, however, would not pay for all this. Winifred's
father paid. He liked paying. He made her only a very small allowance,
but he often gave her ten pounds--or gave Egbert ten pounds. So they both
looked on the old man as the mainstay. Egbert didn't mind being
patronized and paid for. Only when he felt the family was a little _too_
condescending, on account of money, he began to get huffy.
Then of course children came: a lovely little blonde daughter with a head
of thistle-down. Everybody adored the child. It was the first exquisite
blonde thing that had come into the family, a little mite with the white,
slim, beautiful limbs of its father, and as it grew up the dancing,
dainty movement of a wild little daisy-spirit. No wonder the Marshalls
all loved the child: they called her Joyce. They themselves had their own
grace, but it was slow, rather heavy. They had everyone of them strong,
heavy limbs and darkish skins, and they were short in stature. And now
they had for one of their own this light little cowslip child. She was
like a little poem in herself.
But nevertheless, she brought a new difficulty. Winifred must have a
nurse for her. Yes, yes, there must be a nurse. It was the family decree.
Who was to pay for the nurse? The grandfather--seeing the father himself
earned no money. Yes, the grandfather would pay, as he had paid all the
lying-in expenses.
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