Reginald on Worries

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_ I have (said Reginald) an aunt who worries. She's not really
an aunt--a sort of amateur one, and they aren't really
worries. She is a social success, and has no domestic
tragedies worth speaking of, so she adopts any decorative
sorrows that are going, myself included. In that way she's
the antithesis, or whatever you call it, to those sweet,
uncomplaining women one knows who have seen trouble, and worn
blinkers ever since. Of course, one just loves them for it,
but I must confess they make me uncomfy; they remind one so
of a duck that goes flapping about with forced cheerfulness
long after its head's been cut off. Ducks have NO repose.
Now, my aunt has a shade of hair that suits her, and a cook
who quarrels with the other servants, which is always a
hopeful sign, and a conscience that's absentee for about
eleven months of the year, and only turns up at Lent to annoy
her husband's people, who are considerably Lower than the
angels, so to speak: with all these natural advantages--she
says her particular tint of bronze is a natural advantage,
and there can be no two opinions as to the advantage--of
course she has to send out for her afflictions, like those
restaurants where they haven't got a licence. The system has
this advantage, that you can fit your unhappinesses in with
your other engagements, whereas real worries have a way of
arriving at meal-times, and when you're dressing, or other
solemn moments. I knew a canary once that had been trying
for months and years to hatch out a family, and everyone
looked upon it as a blameless infatuation, like the sale of
Delagoa Bay, which would be an annual loss to the Press
agencies if it ever came to pass; and one day the bird really
did bring it off, in the middle of family prayers. I say the
middle, but it was also the end: you can't go on being
thankful for daily bread when you are wondering what on earth
very new canaries expect to be fed on.

At present she's rather in a Balkan state of mind about the
treatment of the Jews in Roumania. Personally, I think the
Jews have estimable qualities; they're so kind to their poor-
-and to our rich. I daresay in Roumania the cost of living
beyond one's income isn't so great. Over here the trouble is
that so many people who have money to throw about seem to
have such vague ideas where to throw it. That fund, for
instance, to relieve the victims of sudden disasters--what is
a sudden disaster? There's Marion Mulciber, who WOULD think
she could play bridge, just as she would think she could ride
down a hill on a bicycle; on that occasion she went to a
hospital, now she's gone into a Sisterhood--lost all she had,
you know, and gave the rest to Heaven. Still, you can't call
it a sudden calamity; THAT occurred when poor dear Marion was
born. The doctors said at the time that she couldn't live
more than a fortnight, and she's been trying ever since to
see if she could. Women are so opinionated.

And then there's the Education Question--not that I can see
that there's anything to worry about in that direction. To
my mind, education is an absurdly over-rated affair. At
least, one never took it very seriously at school, where
everything was done to bring it prominently under one's
notice. Anything that is worth knowing one practically
teaches oneself, and the rest obtrudes itself sooner or
later. The reason one's elders know so comparatively little
is because they have to unlearn so much that they acquired by
way of education before we were born. Of course I'm a
believer in Nature-study; as I said to Lady Beauwhistle, if
you want a lesson in elaborate artificiality, just watch the
studied unconcern of a Persian cat entering a crowded salon,
and then go and practise it for a fortnight. The
Beauwhistles weren't born in the Purple, you know, but
they're getting there on the instalment system--so much down,
and the rest when you feel like it. They have kind hearts,
and they never forget birthdays. I forget what he was,
something in the City, where the patriotism comes from; and
she--oh, well, her frocks are built in Paris, but she wears
them with a strong English accent. So public-spirited of
her. I think she must have been very strictly brought up,
she's so desperately anxious to do the wrong thing correctly.
Not that it really matters nowadays, as I told her: I know
some perfectly virtuous people who are received everywhere. _

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