'One lady wrote to me that she would pay almost anything if I would take
her little boy and keep him all the year round; she has only a small
house, and the child utterly upsets her life. Of course, I understand
her; I should have sympathised with her once.'

'It's intelligible enough,' replied Harvey, with a laugh. 'Presently
there will be huge establishments for the young children of middle-class
people. Naturally, children are a nuisance; especially so if you live in
a whirlpool.'

'Yes, I know it too well, the whirlpool way of life,' said Mrs. Abbott,
her eyes on the far mountains. 'I know how easily one is drawn into it.
It isn't only idle people.'

'Of course not. There's the whirlpool of the furiously busy. Round and
round they go; brains humming till they melt or explode. Of course, they
can't bother with children.'

'One loses all sense of responsibility.'

'Rather, they have never had it, and it has no chance of developing. You
know, it isn't a matter of course for people to see that they are under
an enormous obligation to the children they bring into the world; except
in a parent here and there, that comes only with very favourable
circumstances. When there's no leisure, no meditation, no peace and
quietness, -- when, instead of conversing, people just nod or shout to
each other as they spin round and round the gulf, -- men and women
practically return to the state of savages in all that concerns their
offspring. The brats have come into existence, and must make the best of
it. Servants, governesses, schoolmasters -- anybody but the parents --