"But it is incredible how
rumor persists. And when you are a father--there! I knew you would
end by breaking that cup."
"Aren't we being rather absurd?" asked Desire a little later when
Aunt Caroline and the tea tray had departed together. "Besides, you
can't break a cup every time."
Spence sighed. It was undoubtedly true that cups do come to an end.
"What we want to do," said Desire, angry at her heightened color,
"is to be sensible."
"That's what Aunt Caroline is. Do you want us to be like Aunt
Caroline?"
"I want us to face facts without blushing and jumping."
"I never blush."
"You jump."
"Sorry. But give me time. I am new at this yet. Presently I shall be
able to listen to Aunt describing my feelings as a grandfather
without a quiver. Poor Aunt!"
"Why do you say 'poor Aunt'?"
"It is going to be rather a blow to her, you know."
"Do you think we ought to--tell her?"
"Good heavens, no!"
"But it seems so mean to let her go on believing things."
"Not half so mean as taking the belief from her. Besides--" He
paused and Desire felt herself clutch, unaccountably, at the arm of
her garden chair.
"She wouldn't understand," finished Benis.
Desire's grasp upon the chair relaxed.
"Life is like that," he went on slowly. "No matter how careful
people are there is always someone who slips in and gets hurt. Our
affairs are strictly our own affairs and yet--we stumble over Aunt
Caroline and leave her indignant and disappointed and probably
blaming Providence for the whole affair.
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