"You would just as unhesitatingly lop it off with an axe, too," Marc said, "if it served your purpose."
"Who wouldn't?" Toffee said. "Who wants an old bald head around all the time? Even a maternal grandfather's?"
"You haven't got a grandfather," Marc reminded her sharply, "maternal or otherwise."
"Certainly, I have," Toffee said stoutly. "I just swore on his old bald head, didn't I? Or did I swear at his old bald head? I wouldn't be surprised. He's always whining around about how maternal he is, and I know darned well he's never been a mother in his life. It's disgusting."
"Sometimes I wonder why I even listen to you," Marc said. "I only get dizzy."
"Well, it's no wonder I'm flighty with that nasty old man under foot all the time," Toffee said. "If you'd just speak to this maternal grandfather of mine and tell him to stop sticking his old bald head into everything...."
"Stop!" Marc cried. "If you go on any more about it I'll start foaming at the mouth!"
Toffee lay back on the grass and stretched her arms thoughtfully above her head.
"Anyway," she said. "I swear my foot has not so much as brushed the seat of your pants." But even as she said it a smile played fleetingly at the corners of her mouth.
Marc turned to her, prepared to the last inflection to inform her that he would trust her only a little less farther than he could hurl a steam shovel with his bare teeth, but he did not speak. His gaze went to her left hand and remained there.