"
"No, dear," she said hurriedly. "I've had a feeling from the very
first that you didn't really like him--that you really never liked
him. Sometimes you've seemed to be friendly with him, and you'd laugh
with him over something in a jolly, companionable way, and I'd think I
was wrong, and that you really did like him, after all; but to-night
I'm sure my other feeling was the right one: you don't like him. I
can't understand it, dear; I don't see what can be the matter."
"Nothing's the matter."
This easy declaration naturally failed to carry great weight, and
Isabel went on, in her troubled voice, "It seems so queer, especially
when you feel as you do about his daughter."
At this, George stopped unlacing his shoes abruptly, and sat up. "How
do I feel about his daughter?" he demanded.
"Well, it's seemed--as if--as if--" Isabel began timidly. "It did
seem--At least, you haven't looked at any other girl, ever since they
came here and--and certainly you've seemed very much interested in
her. Certainly you've been very great friends?"
"Well, what of that?"
"It's only that I'm like your grandfather: I can't see how you could
be so much interested in a girl and--and not feel very pleasantly
toward her father.
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