seeing her when she is in her bedroom with a head-ache!”
Marianne’s surprise increased. Aunt Constance said this so calmly, so very calmly, as though it were quite a matter of course that she should call on an at-home day. And Marianne could not refrain from saying:
“Yes, it’s very nice of you to come. For, you see, the aunts never come: Aunt Adeline never and Aunt Cateau never and Aunt Ruyvenaer only very seldom.”
“Oh, really?” asked Constance, innocently. “Don’t they ever come?”
“Auntie Ruyvenaer just once in a way; but the other aunts never.”
“Oh? Don’t they?” asked Constance, putting on an air of great surprise and rather playing with Marianne’s bewilderment.
“Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t know. But I don’t call that very civil of the aunts. It’s different with the uncles: men are not expected to pay visits. But I’m surprised at the two aunts, Marianne.”
Marianne did not know what to say. She was not accustomed to weigh her words or to think that another might say things which she did not really mean. Nervously constituted as she was, she had something candid about her, something honest and frank.
“Well, I shall tell them,” said Constance, with a laugh, “that they owe the same politeness to a sister as to any one else.”
