Aunt Charlotte looked frightened, suddenly, and began to cry.
"You mustn't say it, Mary, you mustn't say it. Don't tell them you said it. They'll think I've been talking about the babies. The little babies. Don't tell them. Promise me you won't tell."
II.
"Aunt Lavvy—I wish I knew what you thought about Jehovah?"
When Aunt Lavvy stayed with you Mamma made you promise not to ask her about her opinions. But sometimes you forgot. Aunt Lavvy looked more than ever as if she was by herself in a quiet empty room, thinking of something that wasn't there. You couldn't help feeling that she knew things. Mamma said she had always been the clever one, just as Aunt Charlotte had always been the queer one; but Aunt Bella said she was no better than an unbeliever, because she was a Unitarian at heart.
"Why Jehovah in particular?" Aunt Lavvy was like Uncle Victor; she listened politely when you talked to her, as if you were saying something interesting.
"Because he's the one you've got to believe in. Do you really think he is so very good?"
"I don't think anything. I don't know anything, except that God is love."
"Jehovah wasn't."
"Jehovah—" Aunt Lavvy stopped herself. "I mustn't talk to you about it—because I promised your mother I wouldn't."