"Poor old thing," said Francesca, "so she has."

"--for fifteen solitary years she has battled against the world,
and managed her business affairs extraordinarily well; and yet she
believes that women are perfect fools, and pities them from the bottom
of her heart for being women."

"As far as I'm concerned," said Francesca, "she may pity all the other
women if she'll only not pity me. If I have a headache she not only
pities me, but despises me as a weakling utterly unfitted to manage a
household. No, my dear, I can't face it. Your Aunt Matilda's too much
for me."

"I admit," I said, "that she's a good deal."

"And of course she'll bring her maid."

"And her pug."

"Whose name is 'MacLachlan,' and you mustn't call him 'Mac' because
it's disrespectful."

"And the children won't be allowed to shout about the house when she
takes her nap. And of course they _will_ shout about the house, and
then there'll be trouble.".

"And the children will be compared with other children who are much
better behaved."