"There's a little parcel for you, auntie," said Edwin, with a particular
effort to make his voice soft and agreeable. "But it's in Manchester.
It won't be here till to-morrow. My fault entirely! You know how awful
I am for putting off things."
"We quite expected it would be here to-day," said the loyal Maggie, when
most sisters--and Clara assuredly--would have said in an eager,
sarcastic tone: "Yes, it's just like Edwin, and yet I reminded him I
don't know how many times!" (Edwin felt with satisfaction that the new
leaf was already turned. He was glad that he had said `My fault
entirely.' He now said to himself: "Maggie's all right, and so am I. I
must keep this up. Perfect nonsense, people hinting that she and I
can't get on together!")
"Please, _please!_" Auntie Hamps entreated. "Don't talk about parcels!"
And yet they knew that if they had not talked about a parcel the ageing
lady would have been seriously wounded. "All I want is your love. You
children are all I have now. And if you knew how proud I am of you all,
seeing you all so nice and good, and respected in the town, and Clara's
little darlings beginning to run about, and such strong little things.
If only your poor mother--!"
Impossible not to be impressed by those accents! Edwin and Maggie might
writhe under Auntie Hamps's phraseology; they might remember the most
horrible examples of her cant. In vain! They were impressed. They had
to say to themselves: "There's something very decent about her, after
all."
Auntie Hamps looked from one to the other, and at the quiet opulence of
the breakfast-table, and the spacious solidities of the room.
Admiration and respect were in that eye, always too masculine to weep
under emotion. Undoubtedly she was proud of her nephew and nieces. And
had she not the right to be? The bearded Edwin, one of the chief
tradesmen in the town, and so fond of books, such a reader, and so quiet
in his habits! And the two girls, with nice independent fortunes: Clara
so fruitful and so winning, and Maggie so dependable, so kind! Auntie
Hamps had scarce anything else to wish for. Her ideals were fulfilled.
Undoubtedly since the death of Darius her attitude towards his children
had acquired even a certain humility.
"Shall you be in to-morrow morning, auntie?" Maggie asked, in the
constrained silence that followed Mrs Hamps's protestations.
"Yes, I shall," said Mrs Hamps, with assurance. "I shall be mending
curtains."
"Well, then, I shall call. About eleven." Maggie turned to Edwin
benevolently. "It won't be too soon if I pop in at the shop a little
before eleven?"
"No," said Edwin with equal benevolence. "It's not often Sutton's
delivery is after ten. That'll be all right. I'll have it unpacked."
------------------------------------------------------------------------