"I won't. Nev' be sulky again, because you're crazy about me, and I don't have to be sulky."
"Oh, I am, am I! Good heavens, the inconceivable conceit of the child!"
She turned her back. He darted to her, caught her hands behind her, kissed her hair, and whispered, "You are!"
"I am not!"
"Well then, you're not. Lord, you're sweet! Your hair smells like cinnamon and clean kittens. You'd rather go bumping off in my flivver than sailing in that big Loco they've got there."
"Yes," defiantly, "I would, and I'm ashamed of myself. I'm a throw-back to my horrid ancestor, the betting hostler."
"Probably. I'm a throw-back to my ancestor the judge. I'll train you to meet my fine friends."
"Well—upon—my—word—I—— Oh, do stop being idiotic. We talk like children. You reduce me to the rank of a gibbering schoolgirl. And I like it! It's so—oh, I don't know—so darn human, I suppose. Now hurry—kiss me, and get out, before they suspect."
"Listen."
"Yes?"