So Aunt Emma had always said my mother was badly used, especially in
money matters--the money being all, when one came to think of it,
her own or her first husband's;--and as a consequence, auntie was
never invited to The Grange during my father's lifetime.

When we reached Barton-on-the-Sea, Jane and I, on our way from
Woodbury, Aunt Emma was waiting at the station to meet us. To my
great disappointment, I could see at first sight she didn't care for
Jane: and I could also see at first sight Jane didn't care for her.
This was a serious blow to me, for I leaned upon those two more than
I leaned upon anyone; and I had far too few friends in the world of
my own, to afford to do without any one of them.

In the evening, however, when I went up to my own room to bed, Jane
came up to help me as she always did at Woodbury. I began at once to
tax her with not liking Aunt Emma. With a little hesitation, Jane
admitted that at first sight she hadn't felt by any means disposed
to care for her. I pressed her hard as to why. Jane held off and
prevaricated. That roused my curiosity:--you see, I'm a woman. I
insisted upon knowing.

"Oh, miss, I can't tell you!" Jane cried, growing red in the face,
"I can't bear to say it out. You oughtn't to ask. It'll hurt you to
know I even thought such a thing of her!"

"You MUST tell me, Jane," I exclaimed, with a cold shudder of
terror, half guessing what she meant. "Don't keep me in suspense.
Let me know what it is. I'm accustomed to shocks now. I know I can
stand them."