I told the children one day to collect some of their toys and that I would take them to the hospital, where they could give them away themselves.  I purposely did not say broken toys; and a few days afterwards I was invited to the nursery.  On arriving upstairs I saw that Cys’s eyes were scarlet; and set out in pathetic array round the room was a large family of monkeys christened by him “the Thumblekins.”  They were what he loved best in the world.  I observed that they were the only unbroken toys that were brought to me; and he was eyeing his treasures with anguish in his soul.  I was so touched that I could hardly speak; and, when I put my arms round his neck, he burst into sobs: 

“May I keep one monkey ... only one, Margot? ...  Please? ...Please, Margot? ...”

This was the window in his soul that has never been closed to me.  For many years during a distinguished college career he was delicate, but since his marriage to Miss Ann Pollock—­a daylight creature of charm, beauty and goodness—­he has been happy and strong.

My stepdaughter Violet—­now Lady Bonham Carter—­though intensely feminine, would have made a remarkable man.  I do not believe there is any examination she could not have passed either at a public school or a university.  Born without shyness or trepidation, from her youth upwards she had perfect self-possession and patience.  She loved dialectics and could put her case logically, plausibly and eloquently; and, although quite as unemotional as her brothers, she had more enterprise and indignation.  In her youth she was delicate, and what the French call tres personelle; and this prevented her going through the mill of rivalry and criticism which had been the daily bread of my girlhood.

She had the same penetrating sense of humour as her brother Raymond and quite as much presence of mind in retort.  Her gift of expression was amazing and her memory unrivalled.  My daughter Elizabeth and she were the only girls except myself that I ever met who were real politicians, not interested merely in the personal side—­whether Mr. B. or C. spoke well or was likely to get promoted—­but in the legislation and administration of Parliament; they followed and knew what was going on at home and abroad and enjoyed friendships with most of the young and famous men of the day.  Violet Bonham Carter has, I think, a great political future in the country if not in the Commons.  She is a natural speaker, easy, eloquent, witty, short and of imperturbable sang-froid.

Life in the House is neither healthy, useful nor appropriate for a woman; and the functions of a mother and a member of Parliament are not compatible.  This was one of the reasons why my husband and I were against giving the franchise to women.  Violet is a real mother and feels the problem acutely, but she is a real Liberal also and, with gifts as conspicuous as hers, she must inevitably exercise a wide-spread political influence.  Her speeches in her father’s election at Paisley, in February of this year, brought her before a general as well as intellectual audience from which she can never retire; and, whenever she appears on a platform, the public shout from every part of the hall calling on her to speak.