“Oh, older than that—seventy or eighty.”
“Years?”
He nodded.
“It’s seventy days to Christmas. That’s not even one year.” Her voice trailed into hopelessness.
But at least she had spoken. Justin was pleased with his resourcefulness. He tried again.
“You know, when you’re grown-up the days go quicker. Oh, yes—they simply whiz. Honest! You’ll see.”
“Shall I?” She edged a little nearer to him.
“Why, each time you go to bed you’re a day nearer.” He pulled out his watch. “Talking of bed—do you know it’s half-past five? What’s your bed-time?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned against him with the prompt abandonment of a child discovering its own fatigue.
“Not far off, anyway! I’ve got to get you home, young woman.”