"Obviously not."
"It's only because he's been about the world so much and knows such a lot about music and art and books and—and things."
"Well, you've had the advantages of a liberal and ladylike education yourself. Kindred spirits. Don't fall in love with Cary Scott, Infant. Remember he's a married man," smiled Osterhout.
"Fall in love with him? Why, I'd as soon think of falling in love with you! He's old enough to be my grandfather! But I think he's awfully good for me," she added naïvely. "Don't you love to talk with Mr. Scott, Bobs?"
"Oh, I just adore it!" simpered the doctor, clasping fervent hands.
"Now you're laughing at me," she pouted. "He's always laughing at me. That doesn't help much."
"Sometimes it does, Bambina. It might even teach you to laugh at yourself."
"I do that, too. And sometimes I cry at myself. All night."
"Do you?" He scrutinised her. "At your age? What do you cry about?"