There may, however, be some self-deception about it.
At all events, on the morning of my Constance's eighteenth birthday, a
lovely October day with a golden east, clouds of golden foliage about the
ways, and an air that seemed filled with the ether of an _aurum potabile_,
there came yet an occasional blast of wind, which, without being absolutely
cold, smelt of winter, and made one draw one's shoulders together with the
sense of an unfriendly presence. I do not think Constance felt it at all,
however, as she stood on the steps in her riding-habit, waiting till the
horses made their appearance. It had somehow grown into a custom with us
that each of the children, as his or her birthday came round, should be
king or queen for that day, and, subject to the veto of father and mother,
should have everything his or her own way. Let me say for them, however,
that in the matter of choosing the dinner, which of course was included
in the royal prerogative, I came to see that it was almost invariably the
favourite dishes of others of the family that were chosen, and not those
especially agreeable to the royal palate. Members of families where
children have not been taught from their earliest years that the great
privilege of possession is the right to bestow, may regard this as an
improbable assertion; but others will know that it might well enough be
true, even if I did not say that so it was.
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