But even mothers are not quite angels always.

Sometimes they are just a little jealous: not, I think, where they are blessed with many children; but you are my one child, my playmate, my companion, my friend, my only love.

That sweet girl has come, and I must be dethroned.

I felt this, and--no, nothing could ever make me downright thwart your happiness; but a mother's jealousy made me passive, where I might have assisted you if I had been all a mother should be." "No, no, mother; I am the one to blame.

You see, it looked so hopeless at first, I used to be ashamed to talk freely to you.