"But no two people have just the same tastes," said Kate,
"except Harry and myself. It is not expected. It would be
absurd for two people to be divorced, because the one preferred
white bread and the other brown."
"They would be divorced very soon," said Aunt Jane, "for the
one who ate brown bread would not live long."
"But it is possible that he might live, auntie, in spite of
your prediction. And perhaps people may be happy, even if you
and I do not see how."
"Nobody ever thinks I see anything," said Aunt Jane, in some
dejection. "You think I am nothing in the world but a sort of
old oyster, making amusement for people, and having no more to
do with real life than oysters have."
"No, dearest!" cried Kate. "You have a great deal to do with
all our lives. You are a dear old insidious sapper-and-miner,
looking at first very inoffensive, and then working your way
into our affections, and spoiling us with coaxing. How you
behave about children, for instance!"
"How?" said the other meekly. "As well as I can."
"But you pretend that you dislike them."
"But I do dislike them. How can anybody help it? Hear them
swearing at this moment, boys of five, paddling in the water
there! Talk about the murder of the innocents! There are so
few innocents to be murdered! If I only had a gun and could
shoot!"
"You may not like those particular boys," said Kate, "but you
like good, well-behaved children, very much."
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