Her manner annoyed me often. She was so entirely independent, and seemed not to have a notion of asking anybody’s leave about anything. With the boys she was all sparkle and brightness; with Cherry and my husband all sweetness and clinging affection. But with me there was constantly a look of slight defiance, as if she expected a battle. I knew this to be partly my own doing, but that made self-command no easier.
Saturday came, and after early dinner my husband and I started. There had been a good deal of discussion among the boys, as to where Maimie should go, and who should escort her. Jack and Cress had never come so near a downright quarrel before. As a rule, Cress’ sharp words seemed to have no power over Jack, but he showed unwonted irritation that day.
Maimie seemed rather to enjoy the dispute, looking from one to another with her bright eyes, and making no attempt to smooth down the difficulty.
But Cherry as usual did her best to keep matters straight. She proposed that the three elder boys should all have Maimie in charge, taking her by omnibus to Westminster, and showing her as much as they were able in a given time. Cress resisted, having set his heart on something else. After a while, however, he came round, and so it was settled. Cherry herself was unable to go in my absence, for she had the younger children in charge.
The boys were fond of saving up what little pocket-money they possessed for half-holiday trips; and I knew I should not be called upon for omnibus fares.
Meanwhile my husband and I started on our own separate excursion.
Aunt Briscoe was at that time getting on in years; yet she never had the air of being an old woman. Still less would one have described her as “a dear old woman.” There was about her nothing of the softness and mellowness of age. Some people’s angles rub off, and their natures grow rounder and smoother, with time’s action. But other people’s corners harden and become sharper year by year. I think the last was what happened to Aunt Briscoe.
“Well!” she said, when we entered, “this is an unlooked-for pleasure, to be sure! Robert and Marion together!” And her voice left me quite in doubt whether she really counted it a pleasure at all.
“Yes,” I said. “Robert wished me to come with him for once, Aunt. We don’t often go anywhere in company.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “But that was only to be expected. People who choose to marry as young as you two did, can’t look for much ease and leisure in after life.”