“Has Ullapool had her puppies? I'd love to see them,” said Abby.
“You wouldn't be able to for several weeks. No, she hasn't. Flora doesn't think they'll arrive until tomorrow. It wasn't really that which kept her away from the party. She didn't want to meet Mr. Warrenby. They've had a violent quarrel. He kicked Ulysses off one of his flower-beds.”
“Beast!” said Abby.
“Yes, I'm not at all in favour of that,” said Charles. “I shall pay a visit of condolence. I like Ulysses. He's a dog of dignity. Ready for another Haswell Special, Abby?”
She handed him her glass. “Thanks. As a matter of fact, Mr. Warrenby wasn't there. He had to do some work, or something. Mavis was rather dim and boring about Poor Uncle having to get his own tea.”
“Do him good!” said Miss Patterdale. “If Mavis had an ounce of common sense—but she hasn't, and she never will have! The longer I live the more convinced I become that self-sacrificing people do a great deal of harm in the world.”
Charles choked over the Haswell Special. Abby, regarding her aunt with indulgent fondness, said: “You're a nice one to talk!”
“If you mean by that that I'm self-sacrificing, you are mistaken.”
“Aunt Miriam! You spend your entire life slaving for the indigent, and the sick, and every charity that raises its head—”
“That isn't self-sacrificing. It comes of being a parson's daughter, and acquiring the habit young. Besides, I like it. Shouldn't do it, if I didn't. When I talk of self-sacrificing people, I mean people like Mavis, making doormats of themselves, and giving up everything they like to satisfy the demands of thoroughly selfish characters like Sampson Warrenby. Making a virtue of it, too. It isn't a virtue. Take Sampson Warrenby! If he weren't allowed to ride roughshod over Mavis, he'd be very much better-behaved, and consequently much better-liked.”