“What is it?”
“Nothing much. For goodness’ sake, Mr. Ellinger, how old are you?”
He tried to laugh in an amused way, but he was chagrined and puzzled by her tone.
“Why do you want to know?” he inquired.
“Never mind, if you’d rather not say.”
“I’ve no objection to telling you, my—my dear young lady,” he answered, nettled. “I’m—eighteen.”
“Are you? I’m only sixteen. We’re only kids, aren’t we?”
He didn’t like that. Moreover, he perceived something sinister beneath the words.
“I suppose so,” he assented, in a tone of paternal indulgence.
“Call me ‘Esther,’” said she. “Don’t let’s be silly! What’s your name?”