I've since found
out she didn't--but more of that anon. (I just love that word "anon.")
And I just knew she disapproved of my hat. But she didn't say
anything--not in words--and after we'd attended to my trunk, we went
along to the carriage and got in.
My stars! I didn't suppose horses _could_ go so slow. Why, we were
_ages_ just going a block. You see I'd forgotten; and without thinking
I spoke right out.
"My! Horses _are_ slow, aren't they?" I cried. "You see, Grandpa has
an auto, and--"
"Mary!"--just like that she interrupted--Aunt Jane did. (Funny how
old folks can do what they won't let you do. Now if I'd interrupted
anybody like that!) "You may as well understand at once," went on Aunt
Jane, "that we are not interested in your grandfather's auto, or his
house, or anything that is his." (I felt as if I was hearing the
catechism in church!) "And that the less reference you make to your
life in Boston, the better we shall be pleased. As I said before, we
are not interested. Besides, while under your father's roof, it would
seem to me very poor taste, indeed, for you to make constant reference
to things you may have been doing while _not_ under his roof. The
situation is deplorable enough, however you take it, without making it
positively unbearable.
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