"Effy?"
"My half-sister."
"Well?"
"I think, George, I may have to have her."
"Have her? It's you who'll be had. Don't I tell you you're always being had?"
He looked down at her half-tenderly, smiling at the pathos, the absurd pathos of her face. He was the same George Tanqueray that he had always been, except he was no longer restless, no longer excited.
"Jinny," he said, "if you begin to gather round you a family, or even the rudiments of a family, you're done for. And so is Hambleby."
She said nothing.
"Can you afford to have him done for?"
"If it would help them, George."