“Where’s mother?” George asked sharply, as he met her.
“At Lucy’s. I only came back to get some embroidery, because we found the sun too hot for driving. I’m in a hurry.”
But, going into the house with her, he detained her when she would have hastened upstairs.
“I haven’t time to talk now, Georgie; I’m going right back. I promised your mother—”
“You listen!” said George.
“What on earth—”
He repeated what Amelia had said. This time, however, he spoke coldly, and without the emotion he had exhibited during the recital to his uncle: Fanny was the one who showed agitation during this interview, for she grew fiery red, and her eyes dilated. “What on earth do you want to bring such trash to me for?” she demanded, breathing fast.
“I merely wished to know two things: whether it is your duty or mine to speak to father of what Aunt Amelia—”
Fanny stamped her foot. “You little fool!” she cried. “You awful little fool!”
“I decline—”