“Me? Of course not.”
“I think you do,” she said. “I think we are driving too far. Let’s stop for a minute and then go back.”
“We ought to go back now,” he said.
“In a minute. I want to smoke.”
“I haven’t any cigarettes,” he said. “I don’t smoke, I’m afraid.”
“You are a very nice little boy,” said Maria.
“Little? I’m older than you are.”
“I think not. I am fifteen.”
“I am sixteen,” he said loftily. “I think it is time.”
“What do you do all day in Santa Fé?” she asked. “Do you play tennis?”