when she stood still, and she was herself either always nodding with glittering animation or straightening her back and quivering as if straining at a leash and just about to burst it and go off. She was like Rosalie’s mother and yet not a bit like her. She was older and yet terribly brisker and stronger. Those were the days when frosted Christmas cards were of the artistic marvels of the age, and Aunt Belle beside Rosalie’s mother somehow made Rosalie think of a frosted card beside one of the plain cards. When Rosalie’s mother was in a room you often might not know she was there; but when Aunt Belle was in a room there seemed to be no one there except Aunt Belle. She began to talk, in a voice as high as the house, while she was still descending from the cab on her arrival, and the only time Rosalie ever saw her not talking was during service in Church on Sunday, when she was alternately glittering or whispering or else bending down so extraordinarily low that Rosalie thought she was going to lie prone upon the floor.
Dear thing! She was so kind to Rosalie and so kind to them all, and yet——And yet they all, except Rosalie who was too small (then) to appreciate the resented quality in Aunt Belle’s kindness, and Rosalie’s mother who was too gentle to resent anything, and yet they all, save Rosalie and her mother, loathed and abominated Aunt Belle. It was her way of doing things. She gave kind gifts, but it was the way she gave them. She admired everything and everybody in the rectory, but it was the way she admired. She said most kind and affectionate things, but it was her way of saying them.
“Why, how very nice indeed!” That was her insistent comment upon everything in the rectory. But the tone was, “How very nice indeed—for you.”
That was the trouble. That was what made Harold (who at twenty-six was getting very like his father) hurl about a thousand miles over the garden wall the three apples Aunt Belle gave him as his share of the “very best apples from the Army and Navy Stores” which she brought down with other “goodies” for “the dear children”; and made, him grit his teeth after she had been in the house two days and cry, “Dash her! Poor relations; that’s how she treats us! I’m dashed if I’m a poor relation. I’m earning three pound ten a week at the Bank and I bet that appalling old Uncle Pyke didn’t get it or anything like it at my age!”
Dear thing! “She meant it kindly.” That was the sweet apologetic excuse with which Rosalie’s mother followed the track of the storms Aunt Belle aroused and with which she sought to abate them. “She means it kindly. She means it kindly, dear.”
It should be Aunt Belle’s epitaph. It ought to be graven upon that granite chunk in Brompton Cemetery. “She meant it kindly!”
Issuing from the cab, Aunt Belle began by kissing Rosalie’s mother in a most astonishing series of kisses that whizzed from cheek to cheek so that it was a miracle to Rosalie that the two noses did not collide and her dear mother’s be knocked right off; and then most enthusiastically kissed all the family, applying to each the phrase with which she began on Harold “Well, well, so this is Harold!” (As if it were the most astounding and unexpected thing in the world that it was Harold.) “So this is Harold! Why, what a great big clever fellow, and what a comfort to your dear mother, I am sure!” And then gazed rapturously upon the house and said to Rosalie’s mother and to them all, “Well, well, what a very, very nice house, to be sure!”
(“For you!”)
She meant it kindly. Her manner of talking about herself and about her possessions was not that of bragging or of conscious superiority; it was, to the whole rectory family, and to all poorer than herself wherever she met them, that of one entertaining a party of children—of a kind lady telling stories to a group of round-eyed infants. When she first had tea on the afternoon of her arrival, she gazed upon the silver teapot as it was carried in and exclaimed, “Well, well, what a very, very handsome teapot! And hot-water jug to match! How very, very nice! Now how ever do you think I keep my water hot at tea? I have a very nice service all in silver gilt! It looks just like gold! And there’s a kettle to match with a spirit flame under it. The maid brings in the kettle boiling and we just light the spirit with a match and there it is gently boiling all the time!”
Dusk drew in and the lamps were lit. “Lamps!” ecstatically exclaimed Aunt Belle! “How nice! And Hilda keeps the lamps clean, does she? What a dear, helpful girl and how very, very bright and nice they are! Now what do you think? In my house, everywhere, even in the kitchen, we’ve got this new electric light! Your kind uncle Pyke had it put in for me. Installed, as they call it. Now, just fancy, all you have is a little brass knob by each door, and you just touch a little switch, and there’s your light! No matches, no trouble, just click! and there you are. Of course it was very expensive, but your Uncle Pyke insisted upon my having it. He always will insist upon my having everything of the best.”
Dear thing! The echo of her ceaseless tongue brings her exactly to life again—glittering, chattering, pluming, presenting, praising—her servants! her house! her parties! her friends! her daughter! her husband!—Oh, yes, a red carpet! a red carpet for Aunt Belle, Mrs. Pyke Pounce, to come into the story, and so (at the end of her visit) into Rosalie’s life like this:
“And Rosalie is going away to school! To a boarding school in London where there will be ever so many very nice playmates of her own age, and such romps, and such good wholesome food, and such nice, kind, clever mistresses! Why, what a lucky, lucky girl! There, Rosalie, what do you think of that? You are my godchild, and I and your kind uncle Pyke are going to send you to school and pay for your education because of course we are well off and can afford it and your dear mother and father can’t. There! Now isn’t that delightful? Come and give me a nice kiss then. The dear child!”
Tremendous moment! Supernal upheaval! First and greatest upheaval of the chain of upheavals! Rosalie was to go away to school!
That was at the rectory breakfast table on the last morning of the visit, and that was Aunt Belle, Mrs. Pyke Pounce, coming into Rosalie’s life. “Come and give me a kiss then”; that was kind, kind Aunt Belle, inviting acknowledgment of her kindness and the kindness of Uncle Pyke (with a cheque) and the kindness of Cousin Laetitia (with a box of beautiful cast-off clothes that would do beautifully for Rosalie’s school outfit). “The dear child!” That was Aunt Belle’s acknowledgment of Rosalie’s most dutiful and most affectionate and most delighted kiss. (Most amazed and excited and rather fearful Rosalie! Going to school! Going away to a boarding school in London!)
“The dear child!” Such a warm and loving kiss from Rosalie! And time was to prove it the kiss of Judas! Yes, in a few years, “I’ve done everything for you!” Aunt Belle was to cry. “Everything! And this is the return I get!”
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