My memory is bad; but I had not had
time to forget that Mr. Brewster Brede had told me that afternoon that
he had three children, at present left in the care of his
mother-in-law, while he and Mrs. Brede took their summer vacation.
"Two children," repeated my wife; "and they are staying with his aunt
Jenny."
"He told me with his mother-in-law," I put in. My wife looked at me
with a serious expression. Men may not remember much of what they are
told about children; but any man knows the difference between an aunt
and a mother-in-law.
"But don't you think they're nice people?" asked my wife.
"Oh, certainly," I replied. "Only they seem to be a little mixed up
about their children."
"That isn't a nice thing to say," returned my wife. I could not deny
it.
* * * * *
And yet, the next morning, when the Bredes came down and seated
themselves opposite us at table, beaming and smiling in their natural,
pleasant, well-bred fashion, I knew, to a social certainty, that they
were "nice" people. He was a fine-looking fellow in his neat
tennis-flannels, slim, graceful, twenty-eight or thirty years old,
with a Frenchy pointed beard.
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