"Terence," she said, lessoning him with her bony, long forefinger, "you're just young enough to be wise about women. When you're a little older, you'll get sense. If you want white hands and good grammar, how do you expect to find a wife in the mountains?"
Terry answered with unshaken, lordly calm. "I haven't thought about the details. They don't matter. But a man must have standards of criticism."
"Standards your foot!" cried Aunt Elizabeth. "You insufferable young prig. That very girl laughing down through the branches—I'll wager she could set your head spinning in ten seconds if she thought it worth her while to try."
"Perhaps," smiled Terence. "In the meantime she has freckles and a vocabulary without growing pains."
"All men are fools," declared Aunt Elizabeth; "but boys are idiots, bless 'em! Terence, before you grow up you'll have sore toes from stumbling, take my word for it! Do you know what a wise man would do?"
"Well?"
"Go out and start a terrific flirtation with Nelly."
"For the sake of experience?" sighed Terence.
"Good heavens!" groaned Aunt Elizabeth. "Terry, you're impossible! Where are you going now?"
"Out to see El Sangre."