"Well, your aunt and my mother were great friends, you know, and that was what brought us young ones together while eating our fish. I can see you just as you was then; you had on a new wine-colored gown, silk stockings, tiny sandals and your hair was loose over your shoulders. You remember, mother fixed me up smart; being tall, I really looked more than I was, so we made it up to sly away from the common young hopefuls and go strolling down the river, where, after while, we sat down on the bank to watch the little fish who live in shore, and you began—"
"No, you began—"
"No, you began, Lena."
"Well, have it your way, John; go on."
"You, Lena, began to talk about—you see, I did not know you then as I do now."
"Go right on, John, or I shall have a kaniption."
"Yes, you began to talk about people getting married young, very young, and sometimes, when there were objections, people ran away together. Then we told our ages, and it turned out that you were one day older than I, when you sprang to your feet and said: 'There, John, the jig is up, for I positively will not marry a man younger than myself!'"
"And you began to cry."
"No, Lena, I did not."
"What did you do?"