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It is a
waste of precious half-penny stamps."
"You might have written me a nice little letter about nothing at
all," I suggested.
"For you to say 'What is that woman worrying me with her silly
letters for?' I know what you men are." She looked arch.
This is precisely what I should have said. As I am not an
inventive liar, I could only smile feebly. I am never at my ease
with Aunt Jessica. I am not the kind of person to afford her
entertainment. I do not belong to her world of opulence, and if
even I desired it, which the gods forbid, my means would not
enable me to make the necessary display. My uncle, thinking to
retrieve the fallen fortunes of the title, amassed enormous
wealth as a company promoter, while I, on whom the title has
descended, am perfectly contented with its fallen fortunes. I
have scarcely a thought or taste in common with my aunt. In
fact, I must bore her exceedingly. Yet she hides her boredom
beneath a radiant countenance and leads me to understand that my
society gives her inexpressible joy.


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