"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Ted. She's dining out with an ex-governor of Georgia—I believe a third cousin twice removed of her mother's aunt, or some complicated Southern family relationship like that."
"I thought she said he was her cousin," Mr. Claybourne corrected. Helen winked at me; Miss Hershey would have called it "unmaidenly."
"I believe all Southerners who are anybody are each other's cousins, dad. Anyway, she said they didn't pay much attention to Thanksgiving in the South, and she preferred not to be here."
"The bloody shirt again, eh?" said Mr. Claybourne.
"I can't imagine Miss Hershey in a bloody shirt," I murmured.
"Really Mr. Edward!" Miss Conover exclaimed, half rising from the table. Helen laughed. "I don't think such remarks is nice," Miss Conover continued.
"H'm," said Mr. Claybourne, evidently wondering what it was all about.
"How's your foot, Ted?" Helen called out.
"There's nothing the matter with Ted's foot, is there?" said Mr. Claybourne.
"Not a thing!" snapped Miss Conover.