“Comfort her?” he said. “She’s all right.”
“How old are you, Aubrey?”
“Why, Aunt Temperance, you know I was twenty last month.”
“One makes blunders betimes, lad. That speech of thine sounded about ten.”
“What mean you, Aunt Temperance?”
“Nay, lad, if God have not given thee eyes and brains, I shall be ill-set to do it.—Run in, Lettice. No, I’m not coming—not while to-morrow morning. Remember to be up early, and help all you can—both of you. Good even.”
Temperance shut the door, and they heard her quick foot tread sharply down the gravel walk.
“I say, ’tis jolly moving house, isn’t it?” said Aubrey.
“I can’t think why Aunt Temperance supposes that Grandmother or any body should want comforting.”
“Well, we are young, and she is old,” replied Lettice; “I suppose old folks care more about those things, perhaps.”