"Didn't your mother love you? I don't see how she could help it. You must have been a cunning boy."
"I was a long-legged, awkward, freckle-faced brat, but she loved me. Mothers are like that."
Felicia nodded understandingly but did not take her eyes from the clock. "There it goes, that nasty little minute hand! I'm sorry I ever learned to tell time."
"Say good night to Roger, Felicia, and run off to bed. There's a dear."
Felicia rose obediently, put her arms around Roger's neck and kissed him. "I don't like a man's kiss, when it tastes of tobacco," she said, "but I suppose I might as well get used to it for when we're married, Roger."
"I'm sorry," said Roger, meekly. "I'll give up smoking if you really want me to."
Felicia giggled, picked up her doll, then turned to look at the clock. It pointed to one minute after eight. She put out her tongue at her enemy, then dragged slowly into the bedroom which she shared with Charley, and shut the door.
Roger and Charley smiled at each other. "Were you a chatterbox, too, at her age?" he asked. "I can't remember that you were."
"Dick says I was."
"But you're very silent for a girl. What has changed you?"