All his fractiousness, restlessness, and innumerable wants were easy to put up with; she loved the child.

And he, who (except from his father) had never known any love before, took it with a wondering complacency, half funny, half pathetic.

Sometimes he would say, looking at her wistfully, "Oh, it's so nice to be ill!" And once, the first time she untied his right arm, and allowed it to move freely, he slipped it around her neck, whispering, "You are very good to me, mother." Christian crept away.

She dared not clasp him or cry over him, he was so weak still; but she stole aside into the oriel window, her heart full almost to bursting.
After that he always called her "mother." The other two children she scarcely ever saw.

The need for keeping Arthur quiet was so vital, that of course they were not admitted to his room, and she herself rarely left it.