“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Aldwinkle without interest.
“Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, yes,” Mrs. Aldwinkle nodded. “What about it?”
“Well,” Irene went on, still painfully embarrassed, “you see … that made me … that made me pay attention, if you understand.”
“Hm,” said Mrs. Aldwinkle. There was a silence. Getting old, getting old, repeated the little clock remorselessly.
Irene leaned forward and suddenly boiled over with confidences. “I love him so much, Aunt Lilian,” she said, speaking very rapidly, “so much, so much. It’s the real thing this time. And he loves me too. And we’re going to get married at the New Year, quite quietly; no fuss, no crowds shoving in on what isn’t their business; quietly and sensibly in a registry office. And after that we’re going in the Velox to….”
“What are you talking about?” said Mrs. Aldwinkle in a furious voice, and she turned round on her niece a face expressive of such passionate anger that Irene drew back, not merely astonished, but positively afraid. “You don’t mean to tell me,” Mrs. Aldwinkle began; but she could not find the words to continue. “What have you two young fools been thinking about?” she got out at last.
… old, getting old; the remorseless ticking made itself heard in every silence.
From being merry and excited in its childishness Irene’s face had become astonished and miserable. She was pale, her lips trembled a little as she spoke. “But I thought you’d be glad, Aunt Lilian,” she said. “I thought you’d be glad.”
“Glad because you’re making fools of yourselves?” asked Mrs. Aldwinkle, savagely snorting.