His expression gave no sign of yielding to the request; on the contrary, its somberness deepened. “I suppose you don’t know why father doesn’t want to go tonight,” he said solemnly. “You’re his only sister, and yet you don’t know!”
“He never wants to go anywhere that I ever heard of,” said Fanny. “What is the matter with you?”
“He doesn’t want to go because he doesn’t like this man Morgan.”
“Good gracious!” Fanny cried impatiently. “Eugene Morgan isn’t in your father’s thoughts at all, one way or the other. Why should he be?”
George hesitated. “Well—it strikes me—Look here, what makes you and—and everybody—so excited over him?”
“Excited!” she jeered. “Can’t people be glad to see an old friend without silly children like you having to make a to-do about it? I’ve just been in your mother’s room suggesting that she might give a little dinner for them—”
“For who?”
“For whom, Georgie! For Mr. Morgan and his daughter.”
“Look here!” George said quickly. “Don’t do that! Mother mustn’t do that. It wouldn’t look well.”
“Wouldn’t look well!” Fanny mocked him; and her suppressed vehemence betrayed a surprising acerbity. “See here, Georgie Minafer, I suggest that you just march straight on into your room and finish your dressing! Sometimes you say things that show you have a pretty mean little mind!”