"And you do!" grunted Phil. "But words," he took up the dropped threads rather awkwardly, "are nothing in themselves, Susan. You are too fond of mere words. It isn't words that matter; it's ideas."
"Yes, Phil," said Susan meekly, "but I love words—best of all when they're pictures."
Phil frowned, without visible effect upon Susan. I saw that her mind had gone elsewhere.
"Ambo?"
"Yes, dear?"
"You mustn't ever worry about me, Ambo. My hearing or knowing things—or saying them. I—I guess I'm different."
Maltby's face was a study in suppressed amazement; Phil was still frowning. It was all too much for me, and I laughed—laughed from the lower ribs!
Susan laughed with me, springing from her chair to throw her arms tightly round my neck in one big joyous suffocating hug!
"Oh, Ambo!" she cried, breathless. "Isn't it going to be fun—all of us—together—now we can talk!"