Aunt Temperance’s face was a sight to see. She looked Aubrey over from the crown of his head to his boots, till his face flushed red, though he tried to laugh it away.
“Soothing!” said she in a long-drawn indescribable tone. “Lettice, prithee tell me what year we be now in?”
“In the year of our Lord 1603, Aunt,” said Lettice, trying not to laugh.
“Nay,” answered she, “that cannot be: for my nephew, Aubrey Louvaine, was born in the year of our Lord 1583, and he is yet, poor babe, in the cradle, and needs rocking and hushing a-by-bye. S-o-o-t-h-i-n-g!” and Aunt Temperance drew out the word in a long cry, for all the world like a whining baby. “Lad, if you desire not the finest thrashing ever you had yet, cast down that drivelling folly of a silver toy, and turn up your sleeves and go to work like a man! When you lie abed ill of the smallpox you may say you want soothing, and no sooner: and if I hear such another word out of your mouth, I’ll leather you while I can stand over you.”
Aunt Temperance marched to the parlour door, and flung it wide open.
“Madam,” said she, “give me leave to introduce to your Ladyship the King of Fools. I go forth to buy a cradle for him, and Edith, prithee run to the kitchen and dress him some pap. He lacks soothing, Madam; and having been brought so low as to seek it, poor fool, at the hands of the evillest-smelling weed ever was plucked off a dunghill, I am moved to crave your Ladyship’s kindliness for him. Here’s his rattle,”—and Aunt Temperance held forth the silver pipe,—“which lacks but the bells to be as rare a fool’s staff as I have seen of a summer day.—Get thee in, thou poor dizard dolt! (Note 1) to think that I should have to call such a patch my cousin!”
Lady Louvaine sat, looking first at Aubrey and then at Temperance, as though she marvelled what it all meant. Edith said, laughingly—
“Why, Aubrey, what hast thou done, my boy, so to vex thine aunt?” and Faith, throwing down her work, rose and came to Aubrey.
“My darling! my poor little boy!” she cried, as a nurse might to a child; but Faith’s blandishment was real, while Temperance’s was mockery.
All Aunt Temperance’s mocking, nevertheless, provoked Aubrey less than his mother’s reality. He flushed red again, and looked ready to weep, had it been less unmanly. Temperance took care not to lose her chance.