“Do I understand that the fact that Mrs. Railing drops her aitches and drinks gin, while her daughter is bumptious and vulgar, has had any effect upon your attachment to Mr. Bertram Railing?”
“You asked them to come here, you knew what would happen,” answered Winnie, flushing. “Oh, father, don’t be cruel. I made a fool of myself. He took me unawares and I thought for a moment that I could live his life. But I’m frightened of him.”
He said, gravely: “Which do you honestly prefer?”
For a moment she hesitated, then with a little sob replied:
“I love them both.”
“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed her father, who did not in the least await such an answer.
“When I’m with one I think he’s so much nicer than the other.”
“Really, Winnie, you can’t shilly-shally in this way,” he said, considerably annoyed. “You’ve just told me you couldn’t bear young Railing.”
“I can’t help it, father. When I see him I’m simply carried away. Bertram’s a hero.”
“Fiddlededee! He’s a journalist.”