“It’s very kind of you, Aunt Caroline, but we have promised to call on some people close by here at four.”
Sheila looked up frightened. The statement was an audacious perversion of the truth. But then Frank Lavender knew very well what his aunt meant by going into the open air every afternoon, wet or dry. At one certain hour her brougham was brought around, she got into it and had both doors and windows hermetically sealed, and then, in a semi-somnolent state, she was driven slowly and monotonously around the Park. How would Sheila fare if she were shut up in this box? He told a lie with great equanimity, and saved her.
Then Sheila was taken away to get on her things, and her husband waited, with some little trepidation, to hear what his aunt would say about her. He had not long to wait.
“She’s got a bad temper, Frank.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Aunt Caroline,” he said, considerably startled.
“Mark my words, she’s got a bad temper, and she is not nearly so soft as she tries to make out. That girl has a great deal of firmness, Frank.”
“I find her as gentle and submissive as a girl could be—a little too gentle, perhaps, and anxious to study the wishes of other folks.”
“That is all very well with you. You are her master. She is not likely to quarrel with her bread and butter. But you’ll see if she does not hold her own when she gets among your friends.”
“I hope she will hold her own.”
The old lady only shook her head.