"Well, don't bother about my failings, Aunt Jelly," said Eustace impatiently, "tell me about the Erringtons."
"It's just this," observed Miss Jelly, letting her knitting fall on her lap, "you know how fond Guy is of that wife of his, a piece of ice with no more feeling in her than that pair of tongs. Well, since this child was born, she has changed altogether, nothing but love and affection, and the Lord knows what!"
"All the better for Guy, I should say," said Eustace, who knew what was coming.
"All the worse you mean," retorted his aunt. "Bless my soul, I don't mind the woman melting, no one could go on loving such an icicle, but she's melted the wrong way, and every particle of affection she has is given to the child."
"Well that's only natural."
"It's nothing of the sort, sir," objected Aunt Jelly energetically. "Why should a woman love nothing but her child, and take no more notice of her husband than if he was a sign-post? Every woman ought to love her children, certainly, but they owe something to the father of the children as well."
"No doubt! but perhaps Guy exaggerates his wife's neglect."
Aunt Jelly shook her head in a doubtful manner.
"I don't think so," she replied, deliberately, "Guy isn't the man to cry out, unless he's hurt. From what he says, it appears Alizon is always with the child, and the poor lad is left to wander about by himself. Sometimes, she won't even come to meals. Now, that can't possibly be right, can it?"
"No, I suppose not," answered Eustace, after a pause, wondering to himself at finding his prophecy so literally fulfilled, "but, perhaps, the child is ill, and needs care."