"Sylvia, my dear child!" I said, gravely, sitting down beside her.
"How old are you?"
"I am of the proper age to manage my own affairs," said Sylvia, "with the assistance of my immediate family."
"Well, I don't think you are," I replied. "And since your brother is at West Point, there is one thing that I am going to take the liberty of telling you, which the other members of your family may not fully understand. If you were younger, Sylvia, you might do a good deal of this and not be hurt by it; or you might not be hurt by it if you were a good deal older; but at your age it is terrible; in time it will affect your character."
"How old must I be?" said Sylvia, wickedly.
"Well, in your case," I replied, warmly, a little nettled by her tone, "you'd better abstain altogether."
"And in your case?" said Sylvia.
"You never mind my case!" I retorted.
"But I do mind it when I suffer by it," said Sylvia. "I do mind it if it's going to affect my character!"
"You know very well, Sylvia," I replied, "that I never kissed you but three times, and then as a brother."
"I do not wish any one but my brother to kiss me in that way," said
Sylvia, with a pout of contempt.