“How old is the cousin?”
“Nineteen.”
“When I was nineteen I was a colonel in the army,” said Juan Pachuca, whimsically. “That was six years ago.”
“Good gracious!”
“Why not?”
“Well, in our country we don’t take boys of nineteen very seriously,” said Polly, a little upset. “Did you fight much?”
“A good deal. I suppose then that young men of nineteen do not fall in love either in your country?”
“Oh, yes, they do, but nobody pays much attention to them. We call it puppy love.”
“Puppy love!” Juan frowned. “You are a strange people—you Americans.”
“Yes, I suppose we are but we like ourselves that way. Do you think that engine of yours is all right? It sounds queer to me.”