“Tell on!” said Aunt Jane. “How did Philip enjoy himself?”
“He is easily amused, you know,” said Kate. “He likes to observe people, and to shoot folly as it flies.”
“It does not fly,” retorted the elder lady. “I wish it did. You can shoot it sitting, at least where Philip is.”
“Auntie,” said Kate, “tell me truly your objection to Philip. I think you did not like his parents. Had he not a good mother?”
“She was good,” said Aunt Jane, reluctantly, “but it was that kind of goodness which is quite offensive.”
“And did you know his father well?”
“Know him!” exclaimed Aunt Jane. “I should think I did. I have sat up all night to hate him.”
“That was very wrong,” said Kate, decisively. “You do not mean that. You only mean that you did not admire him very much.”
“I never admired a dozen people in my life, Kate. I once made a list of them. There were six women, three men, and a Newfoundland dog.”
“What happened?” said Kate. “The Is-raelites died after Pharaoh, or somebody, numbered them. Did anything happen to yours?”