Aunt Sophy's temperament and views of life being diametrically opposed to her own, this support always had the effect of making Teresa see the reason of the other side. Hence she never took any of Aunt Sophy's freely offered advice, but usually bore away from such an interview an increased tenderness for Basil, and a conviction that women in their own right were absurd. But Aunt Sophy's absurdity was amusing, and also it was a comfort occasionally to Teresa to hear her husband roundly abused under the general head of "men."
"It's more than Basil this time," she said gloomily, lighting another cigarette.
"More than Basil! You don't mean"
"Oh, nothing shocking. It's only a friend of mine—of ours—who has gone off on a drunk."
"Teresa, what language!" Aunt Sophy dropped a spoon in her dismay.
"Well, it's what Basil calls it. It really is too awful, Aunt Sophy. I'm so fond of the poor fellow—he's just as dear and sweet as possible—and this thing is ruining him."
"Disgusting!" said Aunt Sophy.
"Yes, it is—it is, and that's the worst of it. I felt this afternoon, when I looked at his face and saw that fearful appetite in it, and imagined what he'd be like in a few hours—I thought I never wanted to see him again." Teresa half-sobbed as she said it.
