You see my sister took me when I
was a baby, and I guess I was an awful nuisance to her. She liked to
travel, and kept it up a good while even after Margery was born. I
grew up in hotels and on steamers and trains, going to school wherever
we happened to be staying long enough; sometimes in France, sometimes
in Switzerland, sometimes in America. I remember one Christmas when I
was about six, we were in a hotel in Paris. My nurse put me to bed
early so she could go out with her sweetheart, and told me there
wasn't any Santa Claus, so I wouldn't stay awake watching for him. I
hate that woman to this day! I can remember the big, lonesome room,
and the red curtains, and the crystal chandelier and the way I cried
because there wasn't any Santa Claus, and because I didn't have a
sweetheart!"
"Poor little chap! It was a mother you wanted."
"Perhaps. Sister was good to me. But she didn't understand me; she
never has. She has always given me too much of everything, advice
included."
"But since you have been grown, you've had lots of time to--to--take
things into your own hands."
"Well, I did for a while. I managed to squeeze through the university,
then I went into the shops and had a bully time for five months, but
it made no end of a row! Sister felt that after all she had done for
me, I oughtn't to go dead against her wishes, and I guess she was
right.
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