midday
Why waste pen and ink wondering how I am ? Tell me about yourself , tell me all you do , and all you think ; tell me how many different hats you wore on Wednesday , and how you misspent your time on Thursday ; tell me of all the nonsense that is poured into your ears , of all the rubbish you read ; tell me even how many times your mother wakes you in the night to ask if you are sleeping well . I long for you so that the very faults of your life are dear to me , even those for which I most reprove you when you are near . Let me see : it is past midday with you ; you and your mother are out walking . I hear you both . `` Constance , '' says Mrs. Rayner , `` put up your parasol ! '' `` Thanks , mother , '' you reply ; `` I like to feel the sun . ''