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Are you familiar with the term, my dear?”
    Anna shook her head.
    “Whirlygigs?”
    “No.”
    “Nutmegs, thingumbobs, marble pouch? You have heard none of these?”
    Again Anna shook her head and blanched.
    “Neither had my daughter, but she got my intent and all but fainted away from mortification. Upon our return to the upper rooms, I apologised for the careless remark, but took this opening to enquire if Guinevere was not on intimate terms with her own husband’s private anatomy after seven years of marriage. To my great interest and subsequent disappointment I discovered that she was not. She and Mr. Mallard ‘made their babies’ in the proper and respectable darkness, and she went on to say that she felt it monstrous wrong for me even to be discussing such a thing, and if I wanted the truth of it, I should be put into a house for overly inquisitive lunatics, and this, my dear girl, was the beginning of the end for me as boarder-non-grata in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Luther Mallard! It was become as clear as Irish crystal that I should and could no longer remain under the roof of a daughter and son-in-law who had still to reveal any of their warm and moist parts to the other except in blind congress, and yet were each violently quick to asperse anyone who deemed such Puritanism to be in the least bit peculiar. I must say that I do not know where it was that I went wrong in the bringing up of my daughter, nor know I how she should chuse for her husband one who was equally disapprobative of me, but I certainly know that I did not fail to entreat her to respect and accept into her society all manner of persons—even those who do not necessarily exercise propriety in all things, a lesson she has all but ignored to my great maternal displeasure. It should have come as no surprize to her that I would not change in my own ways. The shock to me most assuredly was the fact that Guinevere did not recognise and seek to amend her own failing—a hardened and illiberal heart. Where, I must ask you, is the more grievous harm?”
    Anna did not respond, finding the question rhetorical. Her attention was additionally diverted by her situation in the small hampering chair; its arms pinched her sides and limited her movement most inconveniently.
    “But returning to our own intercourse, have we license to open ourselves to a full and frank exchange?”
    “I must admit in perfect honesty, Mrs. Taptoe, that there remains, to my disappointment, the need for some adjustment to my own sensibilities such as to allow me to accept all that you say without a start or a gasp, but I warrant that I am most willing to essay to that end. For you see, my father has tête-àtêtes, I suspect, of very much this same complexion, and I know that he must not by now flinch from hearing any of it.”
    “Can you swim, child?”
    “Yes.”
    “And how was it you came to learn?”
    “I was taught by my father in one of the park fish ponds.”
    “He did not, then, simply throw you into the water and trust in instinct to keep you afloat?”
    “No, madam, to be sure he did not.”
    “Nonetheless, you will still understand the analogy, this being the speedier of the two methods to my purpose. I should toss you without instruction into the pond of our frank discourse and observe how quickly you learn to paddle your way about like a happy pup. Otherwise, I should extend to you more deliberate lessons and exercise far more patience. Of course, there is yet a third path we may wish to take, and that is to avoid the pond altogether! My daughter credits herself with evading even the smallest puddle!”
    Mrs. Taptoe laughed at her wit without modesty. Anna smiled to shew an affinity and to separate herself wholly from Mrs. Taptoe’s low estimation of her daughter. “So. What shall be your preference?”
    “Perhaps a combination of the first two methods would produce within me the desired result, Mrs. Taptoe. Jolt me a little but not so much as to mortify me