"It isn't that, Auntie."
"Then in the name of goodness what is it?"
I told her, as well as I could for the cold grey eyes that kept looking at me through their gold-rimmed spectacles. At first my aunt listened with amazement, and then she laughed outright.
"So you've heard that story, have you? Mary O'Neill," she said, with a thump of her flat iron, "I'm surprised at you."
I asked if she thought it wasn't true.
"How do I know if it's true? And what do I care whether it is or isn't? Young men will be young men, I suppose."
She went on with her ironing as she added:
"Did you expect you were marrying a virgin? If every woman asked for that there would be a nice lot of old maids in the world, wouldn't there?"
I felt myself flushing up to the forehead, yet I managed to say:
"But if he is practically married to the other woman. . . ."