Wilbur Edes loved his wife more comfortably than he loved his children.

He loved them a little uneasily.

They were unknown elements to him, and he sometimes wished that he had more time at home, to get them firmly fixed in his comprehension.

Without the slightest condemnation of his wife, he had never regarded her as a woman in whom the maternal was a distinguishing feature.

He saw with approbation the charming externals with which she surrounded their offspring.