"I hate to be told that things are natural. It always means humbug. I don't suppose she cared for the old man any more than I did,--or than she cared for the other old man who married her. People are such intense hypocrites. There's my uncle John, pulling a long face because he has come into this house, and he will pull it as long as the body lies up there; and yet for the last twenty years there's nothing on earth he has so much hated as going to see his father. When are they going to bury him?"
"On Saturday, the day after to-morrow."
"Why couldn't they do it to-morrow, so that we could get away before Sunday?"
"He only died on Monday, George," said Kate, solemnly.

"I hate to be told that things are natural. It always means humbug. I don't suppose she cared for the old man any more than I did - or than she cared for the old man who married her. People are such intense hypocrites. There's my uncle John, pulling a long face; and yet for the last twenty years he has hated going to see his father. When are they going to bury him?"
"On Saturday, the day after tomorrow."
"Why couldn't they do it tomorrow, so that we could get away before Sunday?"
"He only died on Monday, George," said Kate solemnly.
