The indulgent smile wherewith she used to humour my eccentricities had gone, and her face was hard and unpitying.
“I am glad I have such charitable-minded relations,” said I.
“I am a woman of the world,” my aunt retorted, “but I think that when such things are flaunted in the face of society they become immoral.”
I rose. “Do evil by stealth—as much as you like,” said I, “but blush to find it fame.”
With a gesture my aunt assented to the proposition.
“On the other hand,” said I, heatedly, “I have been doing a certain amount of good both by stealth and openly, and I naturally blush with indignation to find it accounted infamous.”
I looked narrowly into my aunt’s eyes and I read in them entire disbelief in my protest. I swear, if I had proved my innocence beyond the shadow of doubt, that woman would have been grievously disappointed.
“Good-bye,” said I.
She shook hands frigidly and turned to ring the bell. A moment later—I really believe she was moved by a kindly impulse—she intercepted me at the door.
“I know you are odd and quixotic, Marcus,” she said in a softer tone. “I hope you will do nothing rash.”