Back in the dining room, uneasy under Winchie's serious steady gaze, she winced at his first remark: "Mr. Gallatin's company. There's you—and me—and the rest's company." After a pause, doubtfully: "Except papa. He's not quite company, I guess."
"Do you want some of the hash?"
"You said there wasn't to be company."
"Please! Please!" she cried. "You'll give me the headache."
"You said I was always to say what I had in my brains."
She bent over and kissed his hand. "And so you must."
"Do you say everything that's in your brains?"
She reddened again. "Everything Winchie'd understand," replied she. "After a while, when you grow up, you'll find a lot of things in your mind that it'd be of no use to say because nobody would understand—a lot of things you won't understand yourself."
"There is those in, already," said he solemnly.
She laughed. "No doubt."