Travels with My Aunt

by Graham Greene

It is astonishing to me now how nearly I came to proposing marriage that night and yet I refrained. Our interests were different, of course—tatting and dahlias have nothing in common, unless perhaps they are both the interests of rather lonely people. Rumours of the great bank merger had already reached me. My retirement was imminent, and I was well aware that the friendships I had made with my other clients would not long survive it. If I had spoken would she have accepted me?—it was quite possible. Our ages were suitable, she was approaching forty and I would soon be half-way through the fifth decade, and I know my mother would have approved. How different everything might have been if I had spoken then. I would never have heard the disturbing story of my birth, for she would have accompanied me to the funeral and my aunt would not have spoken in her presence. I would never have travelled with my aunt. I would have been saved from much, though I suppose I would have missed much too. Miss Keene said, ‘I shall be living near Koffiefontein.’