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onthecheek,“wickedolddarling–alwaysmakinggreat
matchesforme.IfyouhadremainedinIndia,you’d
havemarriedme,I’msure,toanativeprince.”
“Nativefiddlestick;ofcourseIcouldifIhadliked,
butyounevershouldhavemarriedaMahomedanwith
myconsent.Nevermindthough;you’resuretodowell;
marriagesaremadeinheaven,andIreallybelieve
thereisnouseinplottingandplanning.Therewas
yourdarlingmamma,whenwewerebothgirls
together,IsaidIshouldneverconsenttomarry
asoldierorliveoutofEngland,andIdidmarry
asoldier,andlivedtwelveyearsofmylifeinIndia;and
she,poordarling,saidagainandagain,shedidnot
carewhoherhusbandmightbe,providedhewasnot
aclergyman,norapersonlivingalltheyearround
inthecountry–
that
nopowercouldinduceher
toconsentto,andyetshedidconsent,andtobothone
andtheother,andmarriedaclergyman,andapoor
one,andlivedanddiedinthecountry.So,afterall,
there’snotmuchuseinplanningbeforehand.”
“Verytrue,auntie;noneintheworld,Ibelieve.”
Thegirlwaslookingpartlyoverhershoulder,out
ofthewindow,upwardtowardstheclouds,andshe
sighedheavily;andrecollectingherself,lookedagain
inheraunt’sfaceandsmiled.
“Iwishyoucouldhavestayedalittlelongerhere,”
saidheraunt.
“IwishIcould,”sheansweredslowly,“Iwasthinking
oftalkingoveragreatmanythingswithyou–thatis,
oftellingyouallmylongstories;butwhilethose
peoplewerestayinghereIcouldnot,andnowthere
isnottime."
“Whatlongstories,mydear?”
“Stupidstories,Ishouldhavesaid,”answeredAlice.
“Wellcome,isthereanythingtotell?”demandedthe
oldlady,lookinginherlarge,darkeyes.
“Nothingworthtelling–nothingthatis–”andshe
pausedforthecontinuationofhersentence.
“Thatiswhat?”askedheraunt.
