"Little goose, why do you suppose I came here? Why didn't I go to a Rest Cure? 'Because,' I said, 'why pay good money to strangers and harpies when I can pay it to my own lawful niece in my own—not precisely lawful, because it belongs to her—but my natural home?' Enough about that. Besides, there was another reason. I wanted to do what I wanted, Kitty! For twenty years I have lived in a mold, worked in a mold, spoken in a mold, smiled in a mold. Now the mold is broken. I want to be able, if I feel like it, to fling open all the windows in this house—there are forty of them, I believe—and scream out of each one. Can you understand that?"
"Perfectly!" cried Kitty kindling.
"Exactly! You are a Ross, I see. Well! I shall not be likely to do that, because I shall be in my bed; but if I did, or whatever I might do, the neighbors would just say, 'Johanna! always peculiar!' and there would be an end of it."
"Aunt Johanna!" Kitty came and sat down by her aunt. "Do you know what I think?"
"No, my dear, unless you think I am mad. I'm not, only a bit cracked, like most people."
"I think you are a dear! I think—I should like to give you a hug!"
Suiting the action to the word, Kitty threw her arms round her aunt, who returned the embrace heartily.
"Good little girl!" she said, and her clear emphatic voice was rather husky. "Nice little girl! We shall get on famously together."
"And—" Kitty's eyes were opening very wide, as they always did when a new idea dawned upon her. "Why, Aunt Johanna, you are just like all the rest, only reversed."
"What do you mean, Kitty? Speak English, child!"