"Of course he doesn't, silly. I'll be very angry if you tell."
"Isn't a comet a difficult thing to keep quite to yourselves?"
"Not ours. It's a paper."
"Emmie!"
"Well, he knows now. It's an awfully nice kind of magazine. Val and me write it. It's our secret."
"Pretty kind of secret now!" said Val. "But I don't care; I'm going away. I said I wouldn't do another."
"But finish this one. Oh, do it, just a single solitary last time, dear Val."
"Do, dear Val," echoed Ethan, smiling.
The quick blood flew into the girl's face. "Dear" on his lips seemed not only a new word in the language; it called into being something that the wide world lacked before. It struck Val into silence. She sat and looked in her plate.
"We do the printing in father's room when he's well enough to be out digging and fussing with flowers," said Emmie.