Perhaps, after all, Lady Louisa had some grounds for feeling that everything had gone against her. Dick was dying, and her second son Harry–what of him? She was doggedly convinced that Harry was not wanting : that he could help it if he liked. In that case, all that could be said was that he did not like. She stuck to it that his was a case of arrested development, in strenuous opposition to her husband, who had held that Harry’s brain was not normal from the awful day when as a baby they first noticed that he always stared at the ceiling.