Joscelyn (very angrily): How dare you! Of course I have! Am I not nearly sixteen?
Martin: Nearly?
Joscelyn: Well, next June.
Martin: Oh, Hebe! it's worse than I thought. How dare I? You whipper-snapper! How dare YOU have us all under your thumb? How dare YOU play the Gorgon to Gillian? How dare YOU cry your eyes out because my lovers had an unhappy ending? Go back to your dolls'-house! What does sixteen next June know about Adam? What does sixteen next June know about love?
Joscelyn: Everything! how dare you? everything!
Martin: Am I to believe you? Then by all you know, you baby, give me the sixth key of the Well-House!
And he took from his pocket the five keys he already had, and held out his hand for the last one. Joscelyn's eyes grew bigger and bigger, and the doubt that had troubled her all day became a certainty as she looked from the keys to her comrades, who all got very red and hung their heads.
"Why did you give them up?" demanded Joscelyn.
"Because," Martin answered for them, "they know everything about love. But then they are all more than sixteen years of age, and capable of making the right sort of ending which is so impossible to children like you and me."
Then Joscelyn looked as old as she could and said, "Not so impossible, Master Pippin, if—if—"