"No, I'm sure you wouldn't," replied Eustace meekly. "And how are things, aunt?" "What kind of things, child? Be more explicit." "Well, my cousin Errington, is he all right?" "Humph! right enough." "And his wife?" "She's a fool," remarked Aunt Jelly politely, at which Eustace felt quite indignant. "I don't think so." "What do you know about it?" retorted the old lady sharply. "I tell you she is a fool. Guy was up to see me the other day." "Well, you can hardly expect me to believe that Guy spoke like that to you about his wife. "Who said he did, you blind bat? Don't jump to conclusions, Eustace, for you're not clever enough to land at them." "Well, tell me why you speak of Lady Errington like this" "I take my own time and own way of telling things," replied Miss Jelly deliberately. "Minnie, my dear, go upstairs and look for your poetry, I daresay Mr. Gartney will glance at it before he goes." Minnie had her precious manuscript in her pocket, but knowing from Miss Corbin's hint that she wanted to discuss private affairs with her nephew, meekly retreated from the room, closing the door quietly after her. "I don't know what I've done that you should inflict Minnie's poetry on me," said Eustace in an injured tone. "Pooh, nonsense! don't be selfish. It gives the poor child pleasure to have her milk-and-water rubbish looked at by you. Do a kind action for once in your life, Eustace. I'm sure it's little enough you do for your fellow-creatures." "They aren't worth it." "I daresay, but no doubt they make the same remark about you." "Well, don't bother about my failings, Aunt Jelly," said Eustace impatiently, "tell me about the Erringtons." "It's just this," observed Miss Jelly, letting her knitting fall on her lap, "you know how fond Guy is of that wife of his, a piece of ice with no more feeling in her than that pair of tongs. Well, since this child was born, she has changed altogether, nothing but love and affection, and the Lord knows what!" "All the better for Guy, I should say," said Eustace, who knew what was coming. "All the worse you mean," retorted his aunt. "Bless my soul, I don't mind the woman melting, no one could go on loving such an icicle, but she's melted the wrong way, and every particle of affection she has is given to the child." "Well that's only natural." "It's nothing of the sort, sir," objected Aunt Jelly energetically. "Why should a woman love nothing but her child, and take no more notice of her husband than if he was a sign-post? Every woman ought to love her children, certainly, but they owe something to the father of the children as well." "No doubt! but perhaps Guy exaggerates his wife's neglect." Aunt Jelly shook her head in a doubtful manner.