Miss Potter Page #5

are going to be friends.

Have you?

Well, Norman tells me that

you're unmarried, as am I,

and that you're not

unhappy about it.

And I can't tell you how much

that pleases me.

Why can't you talk about

the weather like other girls?

Well, all the other unmarried

daughters in our circle,

and, believe me, there are many

they sit around all day,

gossiping and unaccountably

bursting into tears.

But you have done something.

You've written a book.

I warn you, I am prepared to

like you very much.

Well, in that case, I shall have

to like you too, Miss Warne.

Call me Millie, and that's to be

the last of Miss Potter too,

I'm afraid.

Absolutely. Beatrix, by all means.

Thank goodness, the tea!

I'm beginning to feel quite ill

with all this bonhomie.

Oh, do let's have tea

in the garden, Mother.

It's too beautiful a day

in every way not to share it

with the flowers.

Well, I love to garden.

Mother disapproves,

but I can't help myself.

I love flowers shockingly.

That's why you have

the hands of a greengrocer.

I do not!

Thank heavens Norman sometimes

deigns to read to me.

If I had to rely on you

for companionship,

I should expire of loneliness.

My mother's taste in books,

Miss Potter, and, I'm afraid,

in life, runs to the er...

melodramatic.

Oh, nonsense.

I like good English biographies

and you know it.

I loathe silly romances, such as

the ones your brothers publish.

My brothers and I, Mother.

I am part of the firm now too,

you know.

A sweet-natured boy like you

does not need to work.

Your brothers provide quite well

for all of us,

and I need your smile here.

But then, no-one listens to

a crotchety old lady

in a wheelchair.

Indeed they don't, Mother.

My mother may be crotchety,

Miss Potter,

but she does have an eye

for beautiful things.

She was fascinated by your drawings.

Utterly unique.

Well, when I see something unusual,

I'm not contentjust to look at it.

I must capture it.

Last summer, in the farmyard,

I was drawing something

that was quite lovely in the sun,

and suddenly, I realised I was

drawing the pigs' swill bucket.

I had to laugh at myself.

I feel a bit of a chill, Norman.

Can you take me inside?

- Of course.

- Please excuse me.

It was delightful meeting you,

Miss Potter.

And you.

Do stay longer, and teach

Millie how to behave.

I think that means she likes you.

Did she say she likes to

draw swill buckets?

Indeed she did, Mother.

Indeed she did.

I think by Wednesday, you could

hang the lace curtains upstairs.

- Then at least it will look like summer,

even if it doesn't feel like it. -Yes, Madam

Oh, Beatrix. What is this stain

on your blouse?

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