“Not at all. I am really twenty-seven.”
“Devil! How old are you?”
“Older than you, anyway.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I am an awful liar,” she said, with an air of telling him a secret.
“I shall distrust every word you say henceforth.”
“Good—then I shall always tell the truth, and you’ll be no wiser. You can’t hold me.”
“Who wants to hold you? Not I!” he said.
“Oh, don’t you?”
“What would I do with you? What are you good for? No, I don’t want you. Go home,” he told her.