"'Fraid you have; but I don' mind the 'sponsibility,—'I'll always take care of you, you know!" nodded Small Porges, sitting down, the better to get his arm protectingly about her, while Anthea stooped to kiss the top of his curly head. "I promised my Uncle Porges I'd always take care of you, an' so I will!"
"Yes, dear."
"Uncle Porges told me—"
"Never mind, dear,—don' let's talk of—him."
"Do you still—hate him, then, Auntie Anthea?"
"Hush, dear!—it's very wrong to—hate people."
"Yes, a course it is! Then—perhaps, if you don't hate him any more—you like him a bit,—jest a—teeny bit, you know?"
"Why—there's the clock striking half-past eight, Georgy!"
"Yes, I hear it,—but—do you,—the teeniest bit? Oh! can't you like him jest a bit—for my sake, Auntie Anthea? I'm always trying to please you,—an' I found you the fortune, you know, so now I want you to please me,—an' tell me you like him—for my sake."
"But—Oh Georgy dear!—you don't understand."