“Very likely you thought so, dearest Uncle Cradock; and so very likely I might have thought, or any of the old–school people. But we must make allowances—you know we are bound to do so—for young people brought up to look at things from a different point of view.” “No—by—George I wonʼt. I have heard that stuff too often. Spirit of the age, and all that balderdash. Because a set of young jackanapes are blessed with impudence enough to throw to the dogs all the teachings of ages, just when it doesnʼt suit them, is it likely that we, who are old enough to see the beauty of what they despise, are to venerate and bow down to infantile inspiration, which itself bows down to nothing? Georgie, you are too soft, too mild. Your forbearance quite provokes me. Leave me, if you please, to form my own opinions, especially about people whom I know so much better than you do.” “I am sure, Uncle Cradock,” answered Georgie, pouting, “I never presume in any way to interfere with your opinions. Your judgment is proverbial; whereas I have none whatever. Only it was natural that I should wish you to think well of one who is likely to be so nearly related to you. What! why you look surprised, uncle? Ah, you think me wrong in alluding to it. What a simple silly I am, to be sure! But please not to be angry, uncle. I never dreamed that you wished it kept secret, dear, when all the parish is talking of it.” “Georgie Corklemore, have the goodness to tell me what you mean.” “Oh, donʼt look at me so, uncle. I never could bear a cross look. I mean no mystery whatever, only Amy Rosedewʼs engagement to your unlucky—I mean your unhappy son. Of course it has your sanction.” “Amy engaged to my—to that crafty Cradock! I cannot believe it. I will not believe it; and at a time like this!” “Well, I thought the time ill–chosen. But I am no judge of propriety. And they say that the poor—poor darling who is gone, was himself attached—let us hope that it was not so; however, I cannot believe, Uncle Cradock, that you have not even been told of it.” “But I tell you, Georgie, that it is so. Perhaps you disbelieve me in your anxiety to screen them?” “You know better than that, dear uncle. I believe _you_, before all the world. And I will screen them no longer, for I think it bad and ungrateful of them. And after all you have done for them! Why, surely, you gave them the living! It makes me feel quite ill. Ingratitude always does.” Georgie pressed her hand to her heart, and was obliged to get up and walk about. Presently she came back again, with great tears in her eyes, and her face full of anger and pity.