“Nobody will expect you to undertake what you cannot possibly afford,” Aunt Briscoe said.
Robert was silent, and his eyes were bent on the ground.
“And if we don’t?” I said.
“There’s the Parish,” Aunt Briscoe answered again, in just the same tone as before.
“I see you think that we ought to keep her,” I said.
Aunt Briscoe looked full at me. “I’ll tell you what I do think, niece Marion,” she said, “and that is, that you want to throw off the burden of the question on anybody except yourself. And I don’t mean to be that 'anybody.’”
“Then you will not even give us a word of advice,” I said. “I might just as well not have come.”
“Just as well, if that was all you came for,” Aunt Briscoe said calmly. “Next time you had better send Cherry.”
Then she stood up and beckoned my husband towards her neat little conservatory. Gardening had been quite a passion with her husband, and I really think the softest part of Aunt Briscoe’s nature had to do with her love for flowers. “I’ve got some new plants here,” she said, “worth your looking at, Robert.”
I went too, though I was in no mood to can for new plants just then. I could not help thinking how much Aunt Briscoe spent on her own comforts and pleasures, and how easily she could have spared a five pound note to help us. But after all, one can’t judge for another.