"Wish we'd tried!" growled Anthony.
"I don't know who he is, but he's no gentleman!" exploded Avelyn, divided between her ruffled clothes and her ruffled feelings. "Sorry, Pamela, if he's your uncle, but I can't help saying what I think."
Pamela was leaning back in a corner. She had taken off her blue tam-o'-shanter, and was trying to re-tie her bronze-brown hair. She looked up quickly.
"You needn't mind me. You can say anything you like about him. I only wish he wasn't my uncle. We don't choose our relations, do we?"
"Nobody'd choose him if they could help it, I should think," replied Avelyn frankly. "What's his name?"
"Mr. Hockheimer."
"The Mr. Hockheimer who lives at The Hall?"
"Yes."
"Why, he's a German, isn't he?"
"Yes, but I'm not! I'm as English as I possibly can be."