Holly nodded.
“He’s a dear boy. He’s very young yet, only twenty-three.”
“And eighteen from twenty-three leaves five,” teased Winthrop. “I’ve heard, I think, that ten is the ideal disparity in years for purposes of marriage, but doubtless five isn’t to be sneezed at.”
Holly’s smooth cheeks reddened a little.
“A girl ought to marry a man much older than herself,” she said, decisively.
“Oh! Then Julian won’t do?”
“I haven’t decided,” Holly laughed. “Maybe. He’s nice. I wonder if you’ll like him. Will you try to, please? He—he’s awfully down on Northerners, though.”
“That’s bad,” said Winthrop, seriously. “Perhaps he won’t approve of me. Do you think I’d better run away over Sunday? I might go out to visit Colonel Byers; he’s asked me.”
“Silly!” said Holly. “He won’t eat you!”