Now then, she was going to have to stop thinking like that. She should know better by this time than to let herself fall into this train of thought. In the beginning, at the beginning of their marriage, Martin had warned her often enough against thinking, because thinking led to self-pity and there was enough of that in this world. What he had really told her was that she must stop forcing herself, stop trying to think, because her intelligence was not high and she must not put too much of a strain on it or she would make herself unhappy. “I don’t want you to make yourself unhappy,” he had said, and she remembered the nice tone his voice used to have when he spoke to her. Things had not been the same between them since Jimmy died. Jimmy would have been ten now — nearly three years older than Lily. Poor little mite, he had lived only three days, and she had not been herself for a long time afterward, and perhaps she had said things she shouldn’t have said. She was sorry now for the things she shouldn’t have said and that she couldn’t clearly remember saying, but when she thought of that time, her mind turned to ether and she got all sleepy, and she knew it was unhealthy, not the right frame of mind for her to be in, and when the children were at home she was so busy with them that she had no time to let her thoughts go back. And she must always remember that Martin was very nice with Lily and Margaret, a very good father. He was very fond of them, and sometimes on Sunday afternoons he took them for a walk. He always asked Lily about her schoolwork, and took an interest in her. And he invented games for Margaret, to make her laugh. Lily took after him — she was very clever and always got good marks. Lily was a bit too sure of herself, perhaps, but she was a good child, and there would be a letter from her tomorrow, Mrs. Bagot was sure of that. Where the children were now, in the country, the postman went his rounds on a bicycle, and Lily would have been watching for him this afternoon.