Then dawned the
day when Aunt Harriet said, staring at Sophia as an affectionate
aunt may: "That child would do with a change." And then there
dawned another day when Aunt Harriet, staring at Sophia
compassionately, as a devoted aunt may, said: "It's a pity that
child can't have a change." And Mrs. Baines also stared--and said:
"It is."
And on another day Aunt Harriet said: "I've been wondering whether
my little Sophia would care to come and keep her old aunt company
a while."
There were few things for which Sophia would have cared less. The
girl swore to herself angrily that she would not go, that no
allurement would induce her to go. But she was in a net; she was
in the meshes of family correctness. Do what she would, she could
not invent a reason for not going. Certainly she could not tell
her aunt that she merely did not want to go. She was capable of
enormities, but not of that. And then began Aunt Harriet's
intricate preparations for going. Aunt Harriet never did anything
simply. And she could not be hurried. Seventy-two hours before
leaving she had to commence upon her trunk; but first the trunk
had to be wiped by Maggie with a damp cloth under the eye and
direction of Aunt Harriet.
Pages:
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227