"I beg your pardon, my dear. Please say what you were going to say,
and in your own way."

There is no doubt that good-humour--like bad--is infectious. I drew
nearer to Aunt Isobel, and fingered the sleeve of her dress
caressingly.

"You know, dear Aunt Isobel, that I should never think of saying to
the Rector what I want to say to you. And I don't mean that I don't
agree to whatever he tells us about right and wrong, but still I think
if one can be quite convinced in the depths of one's own head, too,
it's a good thing, as well as knowing that he must be right."

"Certainly," said Aunt Isobel.

"To begin with, I don't want you to think me any better than I am.
When we were very very little, Philip and I used to spit at each
other, and pull each other's hair out. I do not do nasty or unladylike
things now when I am angry, but, Aunt Isobel, my 'besetting sin' is
not conquered, it's only civilized."

"I quite agree with you," said Aunt Isobel; which rather annoyed me. I
gulped this down, however, and went on:

"The sin of ill-temper, _if it is a sin_," I began. I paused,
expecting an outburst, but Aunt Isobel sat quite composedly, and
fingered her eyelashes.

"Of course the Rector would be horrified if I said such a thing at the
confirmation-class," I continued, in a dissatisfied tone.