The White Room by Fergus Hume

Mrs. Fane was seated in the White Room waiting for visitors. As usual she was knitting, and every now and then glanced at her little girl, who, washed and dressed and curled and bedecked with ribbons, played with her doll. The child was very like her father, having the same pink and white face and weak mouth. She was a pretty, pale creature, with fair hair, almost white -- what the Scots call linty -- locks. Never was there such a contrast as that between mother and child. The mother firm, majestic, strong, composed; the child weak, restless, delicate, and undersized. As Mrs. Fane looked at Minnie, she uttered a sigh, being alone. Had any one been present, she would not have condescended to such weakness.

"Just like her father," thought Mrs. Fane, her firm, shapely hands busy with the needles; "delicate, weak, irresponsible. I almost wish I had married a strong man. I would have at least had healthy children. No" -- here she shook her head -- "it's better as it is. I am my own mistress and Walter's master. Better as it is."