“But you were so happy.”
“Yes, my love, I was.”
“And Mrs. North was so kind to you,” Florence went on regretfully; “could you not have managed——”
“No, my love, I must remember what is due to myself.”
“Oh, but, dear Aunt Anne, don’t you think it would have been better to have put up——”
“Florence, if you cannot sympathize with me I must ask you not to discuss the matter,” the old lady answered, raising her head and speaking in a tone of surprise; “there is no trouble you could have come to me with that I should not have felt about as you did.”
Aunt Anne had a remarkable gift for fighting her own battles, Florence thought.
“But don’t you see, Aunt Anne, that——”
“I would prefer not to discuss the matter, my love,” the old lady said loftily. “You are so young and inexperienced that perhaps you cannot enter into my feelings. Either the cook or I had to leave the house. There were other reasons too, I repeat, why I deemed it unadvisable,—why it was impossible to remain. Mrs. North has lately shown a levity of manner that I could not countenance; her sister is no longer with her, and her husband has been thousands of miles away; is away still, yet she is always ready for amusement. I cannot believe that she loves him, or she would show more regret at his absence. I have known what a happy marriage is, Florence, and you know what it is too, my love. You can therefore understand that I thought her conduct reprehensible. I felt it my duty to tell her so.”
“Yes,” Florence said wearily, “I know, I know;” but she could not help thinking that Aunt Anne had behaved rather foolishly.