I took my disappointment to Mrs. O’Gorman, but she had no sympathy for me. All that she did was to laugh.
“I told you so,” she said.
“How can you be so elementary as to make use of that paltry phrase?” I replied.
She laughed again.
“Didn’t I tell you so?” she asked. “Years ago. And often since.”
“I suppose you did,” I conceded.
“Very well then, let a poor lonely old woman full of uric acid, with an extremely incompetent medical adviser, enjoy her little triumph! If poor human nature couldn’t say ‘I told you so’ now and then, we’d hardly have the courage to keep on at all at all.”
“Very well then,” I said. “You are one of the most remarkable of far-sighted women. Deborah the prophetess was a blind mute compared with you; Mother Shipton was an Aunt Sally. I give you all the praise and glory. But meanwhile, what is to be done? I’m sure that Rose is making a mistake.”
“Most people who marry do,” said this monstrous old woman.
“Then can’t it be stopped?” I asked.