“Not yet, but you never can tell.”
“Jane, you’re a brick!”
“Jane!” she repeated. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any harm in your calling me that, with partitions in between.”
“They used to call me Denny.”
“And you want me to call you that?”
“Will you?”
“I’ll think it over—Denny!”
They laughed. Both recognized the basic fact in this running patter. Each was trying to buck up the other. Jane was honestly worried. She could not say what it was that worried her, but there was a strong leaven in her of old-wives’ prescience. It wasn’t due to this high-handed adventure of Cleigh, senior; it was something leaning down darkly from the future that worried her. That hand mirror!
“Better not talk any more,” she advised. “You’ll be getting thirsty.”
“I’m already that.”