"A what?"
"White kiss. There are white kisses and red kisses," she explained unconcernedly.
"You have no right to that kind of knowledge," said he sternly. "Where did you come by it?"
"I told you," she muttered gloomily, "that I used to be a terrible necker."
"Yes. But—that sort of thing! Don't you know that's dangerous?"
"Would it be with you?" she asked with direct and naïve curiosity.
"There is no question of it with me," he answered rigidly. "But, so far as that goes, no. I am old enough to know how to control myself."
"Then you're different from most men," she returned bitterly.
"Good God, child! Have you learned that already? At your age?"
"Since we're telling each other our real names," said Pat in her levelest tones, "the first time I was kissed I was hardly fifteen."