“For George. Did I not tell you? Do you think them pretty?” And she held up her work.
“Prettier than he deserves.”
Nora gave him a rapid glance and miscounted her stitch. “You don’t like poor George,” she said.
“No. Since you ask me, I don’t like poor George.”
Nora was silent. At last: “Well!” she said, “you’ve not the same reasons as I have.”
“So I am bound to believe! You must have excellent reasons.”
“Excellent. He is my own, you know.”
“Your own—? Ah!” And he gave a little laugh.
“My own cousin,” said Nora.
“Your own grandfather!” cried Roger.