“Poor father! The way he lets Georgie behave and then stands up for him!”
“Why, Fan,” Herb said, “you don't think George did anything of the sort Mrs. Martin said, do you?”
“I wouldn't put it beyond him,” Fan said.
“That's not fair! That's unjust!” Herb said.
“Oh! I'm unfair, am I? I'm unjust, am I?” Fan flared up.
“You are if you say such things about George,” Herb said, and he said it out flat, too, as if he meant it.
“Oh!” Fan said. “The last time I was jealous. Now I am unjust! I'm sure I thank you for your opinion of me—”
“And, now, Frances,” said Herb, standing up because Fan was, “you are unfair and unjust to me. Either that or frivolous.”
“Oh!” Fan cried out and she slung something on the porch that bounced and rolled. It came through the vines and to where I was, and I picked it up. It was her engagement ring, but she didn't care where it went, because she went slamming into the house, and Herb went stamping to the gate and out of the yard.
So I stood there and looked at the ring and felt pretty sick, because it was just because Herb thought I wasn't a liar and a mean cripple-torturer that he had stood up for me. And, just because I was n't, his wedding was off again and nobody could tell when me and Swatty would get his tricycle.