“What WOULD she now? I’m trying to think.”
Nanda relieved him of this effort. “Why that mother has transferred to him all the scruples she felt—‘even to excess’—in MY time, about what we might pick up among you all that wouldn’t be good for us.”
“That’s a neat one for ME!” Vanderbank declared. “And I like your talk about your antediluvian ‘time.’”
“Oh it’s all over.”
“What exactly is it,” Vanderbank presently demanded, “that you describe in that manner?”
“Well, my little hour. And the danger of picking up.”
“There’s none of it here?”
Nanda appeared frankly to judge. “No—because, really, Tishy, don’t you see? is natural. We just talk.”
Vanderbank showed his interest. “Whereas at your mother’s—?”
“Well, you were all afraid.”