“I’m goin’ to take our Sally out of my will.” There was something almost terrible in the sternness and finality of the words.
The depressed lady in puce silk gave a gasp. A moment afterwards large tears began to drip freely from her eyes.
Aunt Gerty sat very upright on a satinwood chair, her hands folded in front of her, and two prominent teeth showing beyond a line of extremely firm lips. She didn’t speak.
“Nice thing”—each word was slowly distilled from a feeling of outrage that was almost unbearable—“to be made the talk and the mark of the whole city. And after what I’ve done for that gel! School—college—France—Germany—your advice, you know, Gerty——”
Aunt Gerty didn’t speak.
“And then she comes home and gets herself six weeks’ hard labor. Hard labor, mark you!”
Both ladies shivered audibly.
“Nice thing for a man who has always kept himself up, to have his daughter pitchin’ brick ends through the windows of the Houses o’ Parliament, to say nothin’ of assaulting the police. Gerty, that comes of higher education.”
Still Aunt Gerty didn’t speak.
“Fact is, women ain’t ripe for higher education. It goes to their heads. But I’ll let her see. In a few minutes I’ll be off round to Lawyer Mossop.”