“I have no doubt we should do the same again, if we had the same choice over again,” Robert said, giving me a kind look.
But this was an unfortunate remark, for Aunt Briscoe had not married at all young herself.
“I hope you would not,” she said sharply. “It’s bad enough when one person won’t learn from another’s experience. But if you would not learn even from your own, why, all I can say is, that you must be downright idiots.”
Aunt Briscoe was apt to be more plain-spoken than polite. It is a common fault, especially in old age, with those who have accustomed themselves to the use of strong words all through life. We were used to this, and knew how to meet it. Robert saw that he had made a mistake; and he took care not to double his mistake by carrying on the subject.
“How are the children?” she asked presently. “Has Jack been a good boy lately?”
“Very good,” I said. “Jack always is the best of sons to us.”
“Jack is his mother’s favourite, that’s easily seen,” said Aunt Briscoe. “You’d better take care it isn’t a case of being 'fond and foolish.’ But how is he doing his work? Giving satisfaction?”
“He does his best, I really believe,” my husband answered. “Poor Jack is not clever, you know.”
“Fudge!” Aunt Briscoe replied, in a tone of contempt. “Not clever indeed! As if the biggest dunce couldn’t learn to spell if he chose! Jack likes amusing himself.”
“Oh, but indeed it is not that,” I burst out. “Jack tries so hard.”