“Give me a list and I’ll send you all you want,” exclaimed her papa.
“But who will look after you, dear?”
“Myself, to be sure.”
“Tut! tut! let us have no more discussion. Of course Theresa stops with us,” cried uncle Tom. “There is Conny’s bed-room—oh, I forgot! Charlie has that.”
“No he hasn’t,” said I. “Any room but that will suit him.”
The two brothers exchanged meaning glances. I knew very well what was in their minds, but not the shadow, not the ghost of a protest arose from my soul. As Theresa wasn’t going to see Conny, I did not press my society upon my uncles; so it ended in their leaving the house after dinner, whilst my aunt, Theresa, and your servant remained at home to look after one another.
My aunt could talk of nothing but the dreadful blow Conny had dealt her pride, and the wretched person she had introduced into the family. I am very patient, and have never in my life been considered unsympathetic: but upon my word, I began to grow very sick of hearing my aunt twanging, eternally twanging, that one groaning string. Having fruitlessly endeavoured to get her to talk of something else, I began to cast about for some stratagem to induce her to leave my cousin and me alone. However, to my great delight, she burst into tears in the middle of a violent attack on Curling, and, probably feeling hysterical, and not choosing to show her ankles to Theresa, she hastened out of the room.
“This is very sad,” said Theresa.
“To everybody,” I answered; “to those who have to feel and to those who have to hear.”
“I can’t conceive how my aunt could have been so completely tricked. Surely she must have known that Conny was attached to Mr. Curling.”