"If you didn't, it was no fault of yours. You've been trying to get at her for God knows how long. Let her be. For Heaven's sake, let her be, Ethel. If you do, she is sure to take him, because I have always carefully given her to understand that she may expect nothing from me. I have been conscientious about that. And she must know that we are doing her a good-sized favour this winter. But if you don't let her alone, she is bound to botch the whole affair."
He put aside his newspaper and prepared to go to that one of his clubs at which he could obtain the best cocktail. As he was about to leave the house, Muriel entered it. Preston smiled.
"Hello," he said. "Been for a walk?"
The girl was flushed and patently troubled.
"Yes, Uncle Preston," she said.
"Hum. Just going myself. How's the weather?"
"Lovely," murmured Muriel. She wanted to hurry to her room.
"What? Why, when I looked out a bit ago, I was sure it was raining."
"Oh, yes; I believe it is raining. I didn't notice."
Preston chuckled. He put out a thick thumb and forefinger and pinched her cheek.