Part 23 (1/2)
”I did everything for your sake,” moaned Aunt Caroline brokenly. ”And they were silly. But I hoped you would not notice it. And you will never know what I went through trying to get them down for breakfast at nine.”
”I can imagine it,” with ready sympathy. ”They always yawned. And there must have been many darker secrets which I never guessed. You kept them from me. Do you remember that hole in Ada's stocking?”
”Yes, but I--”
”Never mind. The fib wasn't nearly as big as the hole. But how could you expect me to help noticing the general lightness and frivolity of your visitors, shown up so plainly against the background of your own character?”
”Y-es. I didn't think of that”
”Perhaps I should never have married if I had not got away--from the comparison, I mean.”
”There was a danger, I suppose. But,” with renewed grief, ”Oh, Benis, such a wedding! No cards, no cake--and in pyjamas--oh!”
”Come now, Aunt, don't give way! And do you feel that it is quite right to criticise the clergy? I always fancy that it is the first step toward free-thinking. And you couldn't see much of them, you know, only the legs. Besides, consider what a wedding with cards and cake would have meant in Bainbridge at this time. No second maid, no proper cook!
We should have appeared at a disadvantage in the eyes of the whole town. As it is, we can take our time, engage competent help, select a favorable date and give a reception which will be the very last word in elegance.”
”Yes! I could get--what am I talking about? Of course I shan't do anything of the kind. How can you ask me to? Oh, Benis--a heathen!”
”Not a bit of it, Aunt. Church of England. But I can see what has happened. You have been allowing old Bones to cloud your judgment. I never knew a fellow so p.r.o.ne to jump to idiotic conclusions. No doubt he heard that I had come in search of Indians and, without a single inquiry, decided that I had married one.”
”It was hasty of him. I admit that,” said Aunt Caroline wiping her eyes.
”But with your knowledge of my personal character you will understand that my interest in, and admiration for, our aborigines in their darker and wilder state--”
”John said they were only fairly wild.”
”Well, even in a fairly wild state. Or indeed in a wholly tame one. My interest at any time is purely scientific and would never lead me to marry into their family circle. My wife's father, as a matter of fact, is English. A professional man, retired, and living upon a small--er--estate near Vancouver. Her mother, who died when Desire was a child, was English also.”
”Who took care of the child?”
”A Chinaman.” The professor was listening to Desire's distant laugh and answered absently with more truth than wisdom.
”What!” The tone of horror brought him back.
”Oh, you mean who brought her up? Her father, of course.”
”You said a Chinaman.”
”They had a Chinese cook.”
”Scandalous! Had the child no Aunt?”
The professor sighed. ”Poor girl,” he said. ”One of the first things she told me about herself was, 'I have no Aunt.'”
Aunt Caroline polished her nose thoughtfully.
”That would account for a great deal,” she admitted. ”And her being English on both sides is something. Now that you speak of it, I did notice a slight accent. I never met an English person yet who could say ”a” properly. But she is young and may learn. In the meantime--”
”The sandwiches are ready,” called Desire from the tent.