"Beatrice must be very happy—she has an opportunity to triumph!" Mark Ambient said, with a laugh of which the bitterness was just perceptible.
"Surely not if the child is ill," I ventured to remark, by way of pleading for Mrs. Ambient.
"My dear fellow, you are not married—you don't know the nature of wives!" my host exclaimed.
"Possibly not; but I know the nature of mothers."
"Beatrice is perfect as a mother," said Miss Ambient, with a tremendous sigh and her fingers interlaced on her embroidered knees.
"I shall go up and see the child," her brother went on. "Do you suppose he's asleep?"
"Beatrice won't let you see him, Mark," said the young lady, looking at me, though she addressed our companion.
"Do you call that being perfect as a mother?" Ambient inquired.
"Yes, from her point of view."
"Damn her point of view!" cried the author of Beltraffio. And he left the room; after which we heard him ascend the stairs.
I sat there for some ten minutes with Miss Ambient, and we naturally had some conversation, which was begun, I think, by my asking her what the point of view of her sister-in-law could be.
"Oh, it's so very odd," she said. "But we are so very odd, altogether. Don't you find us so? We have lived so much abroad. Have you people like us in America?"
