"'Bout my—Uncle Porges."
"But Georgy—I—"
"You do like him—jest a bit—don't you?—please?" Small Porges was standing before her as he waited for her answer, but now, seeing how she hesitated, and avoided his eyes, he put one small hand beneath the dimple in her chin, so that she was forced to look at him.
"You do, please,—don't you?" he pleaded.
Anthea hesitated; but, after all,—He was gone, and nobody could hear; and Small Porges was so very small; and who could resist the entreaty in his big, wistful eyes? surely not Anthea. Therefore, with a sudden gesture of abandonment, she leaned forward in his embrace, and rested her weary head against his manly, small shoulder:
"Yes!" she whispered.
"Jest as much as you like—Mr. Cassilis?" he whispered back.
"Yes!"
"A—bit more—jest a teeny bit more?"
"Yes!"