'To-morrow's Monday, Mrs Stout
Says she must put the washing out.
Why can't she save my scanty tin
And try and keep the washing in?
The next day's Tuesday, what a pest.
Why can't the devil let me rest?'
'That will do,' said Aunt Amelia, and rang the bell for her maid. 'Take the child away, and perhaps you could teach her a hymn, Keziah.'
'Yes, my lady,' said Keziah.
Then I tried to tell my aunt a little about my journey. 'I was so ill,' I said, 'the sea was simply awful.'
'Don't say "awful," Margaret, there's nothing awful but being in hell.'
I felt the conversation languishing. I asked if there was any news. It seemed safer to let my Aunt do all the talking, besides 'my prickles' were all out.
'I suppose,' she said, 'you've heard about your cousin, Eustace?'
'No,' I replied. 'Aunt Constance said she was in trouble, but she couldn't tell me why just then. What is it?'
'I expect she's ashamed,' said Aunt Amelia acidly. It's all her fault. Your Uncle Jasper knows the truth, at least he ought to,' but as I could not hear a word against those two beloveds, I said again,—
'Tell me about Eustace.'