The answer came reluctantly, a word at a time, in fragments.
“Because she is trying—”
“Trying what?”
“Trying to make somebody who is much—”
“Much what?”
“Much too young for her—”
“Marry her?”
“Yes, mamma.”
Breathlessly interested, Mrs. Milroy leaned forward, and twined her hand caressingly in her daughter’s hair.
“Who is it, Neelie?” she asked, in a whisper.