From them a graciousness emanated pervading all around. Even my aunt Fan decided for the second time in her career to give amiability a trial. This intention she announced publicly to my mother and myself one afternoon soon after our return from Devonshire.
“I'm a beast of an old woman,” said my aunt, suddenly.
“Don't say that, Fan,” urged my mother.
“What's the good of saying 'Don't say it' when I've just said it,” snapped back my aunt.
“It's your manner,” explained my mother; “people sometimes think you disagreeable.”
“They'd be daft if they didn't,” interrupted my aunt. “Of course you don't really mean it,” continued my mother.
“Stuff and nonsense,” snorted my aunt; “does she think I'm a fool. I like being disagreeable. I like to see 'em squirming.”
My mother laughed.
“I can be agreeable,” continued my aunt, “if I choose. Nobody more so.”
“Then why not choose?” suggested my mother. “I tried it once,” said my aunt, “and it fell flat. Nothing could have fallen flatter.”