But Mrs.Hilbery had been gathering impetus from her recollections, and was now in high spirits.
"They must have been good friends at heart," she resumed, "because she used to sing his songs.

Ah, how did it go ?" and Mrs.Hilbery, who had a very sweet voice, trolled out a famous lyric of her father's which had been set to an absurdly and charmingly sentimental air by some early Victorian composer.
"It's the vitality of them!" she concluded, striking her fist against the table.

"That's what we haven't got! We're virtuous, we're earnest, we go to meetings, we pay the poor their wages, but we don't live as they lived.

As often as not, my father wasn't in bed three nights out of the seven, but always fresh as paint in the morning.

I hear him now, come singing up the stairs to the nursery, and tossing the loaf for breakfast on his sword-stick, and then off we went for a day's pleasuring--Richmond, Hampton Court, the Surrey Hills.