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An Autobiography
Edited by
[Illustration: Now began a battle in good earnest.]
T. Nelson and Sons1909
"Kate," said Aunt Deborah to me as we sat with our feet on the fenderone rainy afternoon—or, as we were in London, I should say one rainymorning—in June, "I think altogether, considering the weather andwhat not, it would be as well for you to give up this Ascotexpedition, my dear."
I own I felt more than half inclined to cry—most girls would havecried—but Aunt Deborah says I am very unlike the generality of women;and so, although I had ordered a peach-coloured mantle, and such abonnet as can only be seen at Ascot on the Cup Day, I kept back mytears, and swallowed that horrid choking feeling in my throat, whilstI replied, with the most careless manner I could assume, "Goodness,aunt, it won't rain for ever: not that I care; but think what adisappointment for John!"
I must here be allowed the privilege of my sex, to enter on a slightlydiscursive explanation as to who Aunt Deborah is and who I am, notforgetting Cousin John, who is good-nature itself, and without whom Icannot do the least bit. My earliest recollections of Aunt Deborah,then, date from a period when I was a curly-headed little thing in awhite frock (not so very long ago, after all); and the first occasionon which I can recollect her personality with any distinctness was ona certain birthday, when poor grandfather said to me in his funny way,"Kate, you romp, we must get you a rocking-horse."
Aunt Deborah lifted up her hands and eyes in holy horror anddeprecation. "A rocking-horse, Mr. Coventry," said she; "what aninjudicious selection! (Aunt Deborah likes to round her periods, asthe book-people say.) The child is a sad tomboy already, and if youare going to teach her to ride, I won't answer for the consequencesin after-life, when the habits of our youth have become the secondnature of our maturity."
Imagine such sentiments so expressed by a tall austere lady, with highmanly features, piercing dark eyes, a front of jet-black hair cominglow down on a somewhat furrowed brow. Cousin John says all dark womenare inclined to be cross; and I own I think we blondes have the bestof it as far as good temper is concerned. My aunt is not altered inthe slightest degree from what she was then. She dresses invariably ingray silks of the most delicate shades and texture; carries spectacleslow down upon her nose, where they can be