“O, we saw Philip on horseback. He rides so beautifully; he seems one with his horse.”
“I am glad of it,” interposed his aunt. “The riders are generally so inferior to them.”
“We saw Mr. and Mrs. Lambert, too. Emilia stopped and asked after you, and sent you her love, auntie.”
“Love!” cried Aunt Jane. “She always does that. She has sent me love enough to rear a whole family on,—more than I ever felt for anybody in all my days. But she does not really love any one.”
“I hope she will love her husband,” said Kate, rather seriously.
“Mark my words, Kate!” said her aunt. “Nothing but unhappiness will ever come of that marriage. How can two people be happy who have absolutely nothing in common?”
“But no two people have just the same tastes,” said Kate, “except Harry and myself. It is not expected. It would be absurd for two people to be divorced, because the one preferred white bread and the other brown.”
“They would be divorced very soon,” said Aunt Jane, “for the one who ate brown bread would not live long.”
“But it is possible that he might live, auntie, in spite of your prediction. And perhaps people may be happy, even if you and I do not see how.”
“Nobody ever thinks I see anything,” said Aunt Jane, in some dejection. “You think I am nothing in the world but a sort of old oyster, making amusement for people, and having no more to do with real life than oysters have.”