"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room. Afraid there'll be a love-affair. "See her I will. We were worried. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. I put my foot down like—like adamant. Here, it might be anything at all.
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