"I choose to draw my own conclusions, and they are kindly and friendly ones. Never mind how or what I understand. You are here, and you have said nothing rude yet. I hope you are not going to say anything rude, for I haven't the heart to pick a quarrel with you—one of our old, funny, soon-healed quarrels, you know. I am too happy, in one way, and too repentant in another."
"Repentant?"
"Yes. I said frightful things yesterday to Aunt Cynthia. I dare say she has repeated them."
"Oh, yes, she repeated every one of them."
"And no doubt with a good deal of wrathful embellishment!" here exclaimed Pauline, bristling.
"Do you think they would bear decoration? Wouldn't it be like putting a cupola on the apex of the Trinity Church steeple?"
"Not at all!" cried Pauline. "I might have said a great deal worse! Oceans and continents lie between Aunt Cynthia and myself! And I told her so!"
"Really? I thought you were at pretty close quarters with each other, judging from her account of the row."
"There was no row!" declared Pauline, drawing herself up very finely. "What did she accuse me of saying, please?"
"Oh, I forget. She said you abused her like a pickpocket for not liking the man you're engaged to."