“Really? Then, you see, I have already lived twice as long as you have.”
“Yes,” Holly nodded, thoughtfully. “Do you know, I don’t think I want to live to be real, real old; I think I’d rather die before—before that.”
“And what do you call real, real old?” asked Winthrop.
“Oh, I don’t know; fifty, I reckon.”
“Then I have twelve years longer to live,” said Winthrop, gravely.
Holly turned a pair of startled eyes upon him.
“No, no! It’s different with you; you’re a man.”
“Oh, that makes a difference?”
“Lots! Men can do heaps of things, great, big things, after they’re old, but a woman——” She paused and shrugged her shoulders in a funny, exaggerated way that Winthrop thought charming. “What is there for a woman when she’s that old?”