THE GOLDEN AGE
inquired, wishing to pacify Edward. 'You go out with them sometimes.'
'I don't know,' said poor Charlotte dolefully. 'They make me walk behind, 'cos they say I'm too little, and mustn't hear. And I do want to so,' she added.
'When any lady comes to see Aunt Eliza,' said Harold, 'they both talk at once all the time. And yet each of 'em seems to hear what the other one's saying. I can't make out how they do it. Grown-up people are so clever!'
'The Curate's the funniest man,' I remarked. 'He's always saying things that have no sense in them at all, and then laughing at them as if they were jokes. Yesterday, when they asked him if he'd have some more tea, he said, "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more," and then sniggered all over. I didn't see anything funny in that. And then somebody asked him about his button-hole, and he said, "'T is but a little faded flower," and exploded again. I thought it very stupid.'
'O him,' said Edward contemptuously: 'he can't help it, you know; it's a sort of way he's
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