She was still smiling. “And are you inconsolable to find that I’m not?” she asked.
“Oh, no. On the contrary, I am very glad,” I assured her, with sincerity.
At this, her smile rippled into laughter; and she murmured something in which I caught the words “youth” and “engaging candour.”
“Oh, I’m not so furiously young,” I protested.
She raised her eyebrows, gazing at me quizzically.
“Aren’t you?” she inquired.
“I’m twenty-two,” I announced, with satisfaction.
“Oh, dear!” She laughed again. “And twenty-two you regard as the beginning of old age?” she suggested.
“At all events, one is no longer a child at twenty-two,” I argued solemnly, “especially if one has seen the world a bit.”
My conversation appeared to divert her more than I could have hoped; for still again she laughed.