"Miss Dolores Ferrara of Squitty Cove," Norman answered imperturbably.
"A foreigner besides. Great Heavens! Horace," Mrs. Gower appealed to her husband, "have you no influence whatever with your son?"
"Mamma," Betty put in, "I assure you you are making a tremendous fuss about nothing. I can tell you that Dolly Ferrara is really quite a nice girl. I think Norman is rather lucky."
"Thanks, Bet," Norman said promptly. "That's the first decent thing I've heard in this discussion."
Mrs. Gower turned the battery of her indignant eyes on her daughter.
"You, I presume," she said spitefully, "will be thinking of marrying some fisherman next?"
"If she did, Bessie," Gower observed harshly, "it would only be history repeating itself."
Mrs. Gower flushed, paled a little, and reddened again. She glared—no other word describes her expression—at her husband for an instant. Then she took refuge behind her dignity.
"There is a downright streak of vulgarity in you, Horace," she said, "which I am sorry to see crop out in my children."
"Thank you, mamma," Betty remarked evenly.