"Well, once upon a time they belonged to a queen. Becky's great-grandfather on the Meredith side was a diplomat in Paris, and he bought them, or so the story runs. Becky only wears a part of them. The rest are in the family vaults."
Madge listened, and showed no surprise. But that account of lace and silver, and priceless pearls did not sound in the least like the new little girl about whom George had, in the few times that she had seen him of late, been so silent.
"If only Flora would get well, and let me leave this beastly hole," had been the burden of his complaint.
"I thought you liked it."
"It is well enough for a time."
"What about the new little girl?"
He was plainly embarrassed, but bluffed it out. "I wish you wouldn't ask questions."
"I wish you wouldn't be—rude—Georgie-Porgie."
"I hate that name, Madge. Any man has a right to be rude when a woman calls him 'Georgie-Porgie.'"