“But,” urged Rosalind, perturbed by the aunt’s confident manner of prophecy, “Lady Frances, I understand, is engaged to a lieutenant out in North Africa.”
“Then sooner he comes back,” shaking a spoon threateningly, “sooner he comes back the better. I don’t want to go opening my old mouth too wide, or else like enough I shall go and put my foot in it. I’ve said all I want to say, and I don’t want folk to turn round arterwards and say to me, ‘Why didn’t you give us warnin’?’ Strikes me, my dear, we might have drop more hot water with this yere tea.”
“Do you know her uncle at all?”
“I know of him. I used to be upper housemaid at the Court.”
“And what—”
“I don’t think no worse of him,” said Aunt Emma in a slow, careful, and judicial manner, “I don’t think no worse of him than what he’s thought worse of.”
“I see,” said Rosalind doubtfully. The girl was silent for a few moments. She looked at the walnut face of Erb’s aunt, at the elderly dimple beside the mouth, she watched the old lady’s cautious way of munching food.
“What you thinking of, my dear?”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Rosalind, arousing herself.
“You won’t ’spect me to finish up these yere bits I hope,” said Aunt Emma, looking at the crusts by the side of her plate. “My teeth ain’t what they was when I was your age. Ah,” with a sigh, “that seems long time ago.”