"Oh, all right," Joey answered, still with caution.
"Have you made many friends yet?"
"Not whole ones—sort of half."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I like some of the girls," Joey said, getting red; "but that isn't being proper friends, is it?"
Cousin Greta "didn't know." Joey thought she had been an idiot to try and answer that question so truthfully. She might have realised that Cousin Greta wouldn't be likely to understand, and for the next ten minutes she patiently answered questions as to the health of Mums, the boys, and Kirsty, her own place in Form, and such-like. She also told Cousin Greta all that she thought Cousin Greta would like to know: what his late Headmaster had said about Gavin; the good place Ronnie had taken; Bingo's funny comment when the schoolmaster tried to teach him the first declension.
"I'm sure God didn't make this language the same time as He made nice fings like elephants."
"Your father's boys would have brains," said Cousin Greta approvingly.
"Father always said Mums had twice his," Joey fired out, getting hot and angry.