“I told her—we both told her—that Roaring Abel had certainly killed his wife in one of his drunken rages and would kill her. She laughed and said, ‘I’m not afraid of Roaring Abel. He won’t kill me, and he’s too old for me to be afraid of his gallantries.’ What did she mean? What are gallantries?”
Mrs. Frederick saw that she must stop crying if she wanted to regain control of the conversation.
“I said to her, ‘Valancy, if you have no regard for your own reputation and your family’s standing, have you none for my feelings?’ She said, ‘None.’ Just like that, ‘None!’”
“Insane people never do have any regard for other people’s feelings,” said Uncle Benjamin. “That’s one of the symptoms.”
“I broke out into tears then, and she said, ‘Come now, Mother, be a good sport. I’m going to do an act of Christian charity, and as for the damage it will do my reputation, why, you know I haven’t any matrimonial chances anyhow, so what does it matter?’ And with that she turned and went out.”
“The last words I said to her,” said Cousin Stickles pathetically, “were, ‘Who will rub my back at nights now?’ And she said—she said—but no, I cannot repeat it.”
“Nonsense,” said Uncle Benjamin. “Out with it. This is no time to be squeamish.”
“She said”—Cousin Stickles’ voice was little more than a whisper—“she said—‘Oh, darn!’”
“To think I should have lived to hear my daughter swearing!” sobbed Mrs. Frederick.
“It—it was only imitation swearing,” faltered Cousin Stickles, desirous of smoothing things over now that the worst was out. But she had never told about the bannister.