He was eight years old, and he had as much right now to the nursery arm-chair with a hole in it as Helen had.
That was his first definite realisation of approaching triumph.
Throughout the whole of his seventh year he had fought with Helen, who was most unjustly a year older than he and persistently proud of that injustice, as to his right to use the wicker arm-chair whensoever it pleased him.

So destructive of the general peace of the house had these incessant battles been, so unavailing the suggestions of elderly relations that gentlemen always yielded to ladies, that a compromise had been arrived at.

When Jeremy was eight he should have equal rights with Helen.

Well and good.

Jeremy had yielded to that.