George remained serene in the face of this apparently difficult question. “He ought to have all the trades-people boycott the families that sell part of their yards that way. All he’d have to do would be to tell the trades-people they wouldn’t get any more orders from the family if they didn’t do it.”
“From ‘the family’? What family?”
“Our family,” said George, unperturbed. “The Ambersons.”
“I see!” she murmured, and evidently she did see something that he did not, for, as she lifted her muff to her face, he asked:
“What are you laughing at now?”
“Why?”
“You always seem to have some little secret of your own to get happy over!”
“Always!” she exclaimed. “What a big word when we only met last night!”
“That’s another case of it,” he said, with obvious sincerity. “One of the reasons I don’t like you—much!—is you’ve got that way of seeming quietly superior to everybody else.”
“I!” she cried. “I have?”