She disliked
the idea of long journeys to begin with. Having no objection to moving
her eyes, she was opposed to moving her body--unless towards an
approved certainty. Puddings, bonfires, and laps at story-time were
approved certainties; Heaven and London apparently were not. She was
contented where she was. "London's a bother," was her opinion: it
meant a rush in the hall when the dog-cart was waiting for the train
and Daddy was too late to hear about bringing back a new blue eye for
a broken doll. And as for the other place--her ultimatum was hardly
couched in diplomatic language, to say the least. An eternal Sunday
was not her ideal of happiness. Aunt Emily, it was stated, would live
in Heaven when she died, and the place had lost its attractiveness in
consequence. For Aunt Emily used long words and heard their "Sunday
Colics," and the clothes she wore on that seventh workless day
reminded them of village funerals or unhappy women who came to see
over the house when it was to be let, and asked mysterious questions
about something called "the drains." Daddy's top-hat with a black band
was another item in the Sunday and Metropolis picture.
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