"You're a nice cook, with your mind away off in Richmond."
Margaret was in the pantry, but I knew she was listening. I said, after giving mama a squeeze for forgiving me about the spaghetti:
"You're going to find out a thing or two about him soon. You don't know what a beautiful character he has, and you know very well no man ever had a nicer smile than Roger."
Mama nodded, and went on stirring what she was cooking.
"You're a foolish old angel," I went on. "You just don't like him because you're fond of me. Well, if it weren't for me, you would like him, wouldn't you, Mama?"
She said:
"It may be a case of prejudice, dearie, but he's got to 'show' me first, though."
"Oh, he will," I assured her. "You'll see." Then I added: "Anyhow, you'll admit that he does care for me, won't you?"
"Any one can see with half an eye that he's head over heels in love with you; but—"
Margaret had come out of the pantry, and she banged some things down so noisily that we both jumped.