“Of course, to me, it sounds so dreadful to hear you say a thing like that. I simply can’t understand it. Why, Ford is really a perfect dear, when you know him.”
“What about last night?”
“Well, you know, he can’t help what he thinks, now can he, Mrs. Aviolet?” said the girl pleadingly. “You see, what I always feel, is that there are two sides to every question. I think you ought to remember that, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
The effect of reasonableness with which Diana uttered what Rose regarded as futilities was remarkable.
It even impelled Rose to reply to them as though she felt them to be worth a reply.
“I’m not angry with Ford for thinking that Ces should go to school. It’s quite natural he should think so, I suppose. He’s only mixed with two kinds of people all his life—those who go to public schools and those who go to the national schools. He evidently doesn’t know anything about the in-between people. That’s not his fault. But what puts my monkey up, is him pretending to think that I’m a fool; that I want to keep Cecil a molly-coddle, just for the sake of having him tied to my apron-strings. He’s playing up to old Sir Thomas and Lady Aviolet, that’s all, because they’re so stupid. They really do think it’s only that. Why Ford hates me is more than I can tell you—but he does. He’s made things difficult for me ever since I came here.”
“May I say what I think?”
“Of course.”
Rose could not imagine why any one should ever want to do anything else.
“Well, then—I do hope you won’t think it rude of me to say this, but you’ve given me leave to—it seems to me that you take a simply terribly exaggerated view of things. Not only about Ford. (Of course, what you say about his hating you is perfectly absurd. Why, he’s your relation!) But it isn’t only about him. It struck me that you did last night, when you were talking about your little boy. You say that he—well, that he doesn’t always tell the truth. Of course I know it’s a great pity, and the thing of all others that one minds most—it seems so awfully un-English, doesn’t it?—but, after all, Mrs. Aviolet, he’s only a baby, isn’t he? He’ll begin to understand, in a very little while, that he mustn’t tell stories, surely.”