"I am no longer a child, mother. I am seventeen. And at seventeen there
are problems. After all, one's life is one's own. One must decide----"

"Now, Barbara, I am not going to have any nonsense. You must put that
man out of your head."

"Man? What man?"

"You think you are in love with some drivelling young Fool. I'm not
blind, or an idot. And I won't have it."

"I have not said that there is anyone, have I?" I said in a gentle
voice. "But if there was, just what would you propose to do, mother?"

"If you were three years younger I'd propose to spank you." Then I
think she saw that she was taking the wrong method, for she changed her
Tactics. "It's the fault of that Silly School," she said. (Note:
These are my mother's words, not mine.) "They are hotbeds of sickley
sentamentality. They----"

And just then the violets came, addressed to me. Mother opened them
herself, her mouth set. "My love is like a white, white rose," she said.
"Barbara, do you know who sent these?"

"Yes, mother," I said meekly. This was quite true. I did.

I am indeed sorry to record that here my mother lost her temper, and
there was no end of a fuss. It ended by mother offering me a string of
seed pearls for Christmas, and my party dresses cut V front and back, if