Your Aunt Clo chuckled—“No wonder the family is in a fever about you.”
I was annoyed. “You must tranquillize them. Clem and I go to the meetings of the third International, but I’m not going to do anything you know. It’s only that I find it such a bore to go on talking as if the world were or ever could be as it was before the war. Let me have any little distractions. They’ll do no one any harm. As long as Jinny exists, they can feel quite safe. I shan’t throw a bomb or take the vow of poverty. Communism doesn’t appeal to me when I think of my child. I want her to be safe.”
At the mention of Jinny your aunt’s face had grown serious, as serious as such a round expanse of placid flesh could grow.
“Well, what are your ideas for Jinny,” she snapped.
I was startled. I stammered. “My ideas—?”
“Yes—you know don’t you, that she’s got to be married?”
“Ah—but in time. In my country—girls don’t—”
“This isn’t your country. Jinny is nineteen, she’s very conspicuous. There are already several prétendants—”
“Prétendants?”
“Yes. Hasn’t Philibert consulted you?”