"Not exactly," said David.
"Humph!" she sniffed. "Sounds much like 'God forbid!' Which isn't grateful. You've much to thank me for, if you only knew it. Shirley's better off here—and you're much better off having her here—than back there pinching pennies with you. There are some things Shirley never could understand."
David answered nothing, but a little voice within was piping, "It is true! It is true!"
Aunt Clara looked at him sharply, then suddenly—to her own great surprise—blew a trumpet blast from her long nose and said:
"Tut! tut! Don't mind my impertinent old tongue. I like you better than
I sound. You may never set the river afire, but you have a pretty
patience I never had. And I could be a fool over you, if I let myself.
Do you want me to send her back home? I will, if you say the word."
David hesitated a moment.
"Do you want her to go?"
"No," said Aunt Clara. "Shirley can be good company when things go to her taste."
"Does she want to go?"
"If she does," said Aunt Clara, quite herself once more, "she's bearing up under the disappointment remarkably well—for Shirley. I take it my question is answered."