I reviewed the situation from the two points of view, the while Aunt Emmeline feverishly hacked at the hard sugar coating of the cake. For a young, comparatively young woman, to go from the liberty of her own home to share the stuffy, conventional, dull, proper, do-nothing-but-fuss-and-talk-for-ever-about-nothing life of two old ladies in a country town would obviously be a change for the worse; but for the aforesaid old ladies to have their trivial life enriched by the advent of a young, attractive, and (when she is in a good temper!) lively and amusing niece, this should surely be a joy and a gain! But it wasn’t a joy. The poor old dears were shuddering at the thought that their peaceful routine might be spoiled. They didn’t want “a bright young influence!” They wanted to be free to do as they liked—sup luxuriously on cocoa and an egg, turn up black cashmere skirts over wadded petticoats, and doze before the fire, discuss the servants’ failings by the hour, drink glasses of hot water, and go to bed at ten o’clock.—As she hacked at the sugar crust, the corners of Aunt Emmeline’s lips turned more and more downward. My silence had been taken for consent, and in the recesses of her heart she was saying to herself, “Farewell! a long farewell to all our frowstings!” I felt sorry for the poor old soul, and hastened to put her out of her misery.
“It’s very good of you, Aunt Emmeline. And Aunt Eliza. Thank you very much, but I have quite decided to have a home of my own, even though I can’t afford to keep on The Clough. I am going to live in London.”
Just for one second, uncontrollable relief and joy gleamed from the watching eyes, then the mask fell, and she valiantly tried to look distressed.
“Ah, Evelyn! Obstinate again! Setting yourself up to know better than your elders. There’ll be a bitter awakening for you some day, my dear, and when it comes you will be glad enough of your old aunties’ help. Well! the door will never be closed against you. However hard and ungrateful you may be, we shall remember our duty to our sister’s child. Whenever you choose to return—”
“I shall see the candle burning in the casement window!”
She looked so pained, so shocked, that if I had had any heart left I should have put my arms round her neck, and begged her pardon with a kiss; but I had no heart, only something cold, and hard, and tight, which made it impossible to be loving or kind, so I said hastily:—
“I shall certainly want to pay you a visit some day. It is very kind of you to promise to have me. After living in London, Ferbay will seem quite a haven of rest.”
Aunt Emmeline accepted the olive branch with a sniff.
“But why London?” she inquired.
“Why not?” I replied. It was the only answer it seemed possible to make!