My mother:  “My girls never grow!  I am sure I wish they would!”

Elderly lady:  “But they are so pretty!  My Marion has a homely face!”

My mother:  “How old is she?”

Elderly lady:  “Sixteen.”

My mother:  “L’AGE INGRAT!  I would not trouble myself, if I were you, about her looks; with young people one never can tell; Margot, for instance (with a resigned sigh), a few years ago promised to be so pretty; and just look at her now!”

When some one suggested that we should be painted it was almost more than my mother could bear.  The poorness of the subject and the richness of the price shocked her profoundly.  Luckily my father—­who had begun to buy fine pictures—­entirely agreed with her, though not for the same reasons: 

“I am sure I don’t know where I could hang the girls, even if I were fool enough to have them painted!” he would say.

I cannot ever remember kissing my mother without her tapping me on the back and saying, “Hold yourself up!” or kissing my father without his saying, “Don’t frown!” And I shall never cease being grateful for this, as a l’heure qu’il est I have not a line in my forehead and my figure has not changed since my marriage.

My mother’s indifference to—­I might almost say suspicion of—­ other people always amused me: 

“I am sure I don’t know why they should come here! unless it is to see the garden!” Or, “I cannot help wondering what was at the back of her mind.”

When I suggested that perhaps the lady she referred to had no mind, my mother would say, “I don’t like people with ARRIERE—­ PENSEES”; and ended most of her criticisms by saying, “It looks to me as if she had a poor circulation.”

My mother had an excellent sense of humour.  Doll Liddell [Footnote:  The late A.G.C.  Lidell.] said:  “Lucy has a touch of mild genius.”  And this is exactly what my mother had.

People thought her a calm, serene person, satisfied with pinching green flies off plants and incapable of deep feeling, but my mother’s heart had been broken by the death of her first four children, and she dreaded emotion.  Any attempt on my part to discuss old days or her own sensations was resolutely discouraged.  There was a lot of fun and affection but a tepid intimacy between us, except about my flirtations; and over these we saw eye to eye.

My mother, who had been a great flirt herself, thoroughly enjoyed all love-affairs and was absolutely unshockable.  Little words of wisdom would drop from her mouth: 

My mother:  “Men don’t like being run after ...”

Margot:  “Oh, don’t you believe it, mamma!”

My mother:  “You can do what you like in life if you can hold your tongue, but the world is relentless to people who are found out.”

She told my father that if he interfered with my love-affairs I should very likely marry a groom.