“Were your sympathies with Manuel Crust or Mr. Percival? Answer, please.”
“Naturally, my dear, I—why, of course, they were with Percival. He was one man against a dozen. Besides, he does represent law and order. I have never questioned that, have I?”
“Weren't you a weeny, teeny bit proud of him yesterday, Aunt Julia?”
“Weren't you?” countered the other.
“I could have hugged him,” exclaimed Ruth, her eyes sparkling. “I hate him,—mind you,—but I could have hugged him, just the same.”
Mrs. Spofford looked searchingly into the girls clear, shining eyes.
“I wish I knew just how much you hate him, Ruth.”
“Be honest, Auntie. What you mean is, how little I hate him; isn't that so?”
“I don't believe you hate him at all.”
“Well, the first chance you get, ask him how much I hate him. He will tell you. Now let's talk about Easter Sunday. I don't in the least see why I should go down on my knees to Mr. Percival in order to—”