"Your little daughter would be an endless source of entertainment to
you if she were here," said downright Aunt Rachel, with no show of
circumlocution. "I am surprised you do not send for her."
"Children of that age are a nuisance!" returned Rosa, peevishly.
"And of all tiresome ones that I ever saw, Florence is the most
trying. She doesn't talk after I bid her hold her tongue, but her
big, solemn eyes see and her ears hear all that passes. If there is
one thing that pushes me nearer to the verge of distraction than
another it is to have my own words quoted to me when I have
forgotten that I ever uttered them. And she--literal little
bore!--is always pretending to take all that I say in earnest. If I
were to tell her to go to Guinea, it is my belief she would put on
her bonnet, cloak, and gloves, pocket a biscuit for luncheon and a
story-book to read by the way, and set out forthwith, asking the
first decent-looking man she met in the street at what wharf she
would find a vessel bound for Africa."
Mrs. Sutton was obliged to laugh.
"She must be a truthful, sincere little thing!"
"Didn't I tell you she is TOO outrageously literal and
unimaginative? Just let me give you an example of how she tires and
vexes me. One day, about a fortnight before I left home, she set her
heart upon spending the whole of Saturday afternoon with me. Her
father objected, for he understands, if he does not sympathize with
me, what a trial she is to flesh and spirit. But I was moderately
comfortable, and my nerves were less unruly than usual, so I said we
would try and get on together.
"No sooner had he gone than the catechism commenced: "'Now, mamma, what can I do to amuse you?' "She talks like a woman of fifty.
"'What should you propose if I were to leave it to you?' I asked.
"'I suppose,' said my Lady Cutshort, 'that it would excite you too
much to talk, so I had better read aloud. What book do you prefer?' "I named one--a novel I had not finished--and resigned myself to
martyrdom. She reads fluently--her father says prettily; but the
piping voice rasped my auriculars to the quick, and I soon stopped
the exhibition. Then we essayed conversation, but our range of
themes was limited, and a dismal silence succeeded to a short
dialogue. By and by I told her that I was sleepy, hoping she would
take the hint and leave my room.