somebody who does not care for such nonsense. Perhaps you will like it better when you are older"—regretfully.
"Never," said I. All the jam was now removed, and though I felt sticky, no one could guess that fact.
"Do you think a young man and woman aught to converse as though they were brother and sister—platonically, I mean?"
"Mr. Ravener," said I, pettishly, "I do not intend to talk metaphysics with you. I have ideas of my own. I like a man, if I have to meet him often, to talk sense."
"Suppose you fell in love?"—tentatively.
"Yes," said I, trying hard to blush a little and failing in a most abject manner. "You are rather impertinent, Mr. Ravener, but no matter. If I ever fell in love, I should see no necessity for discussing it with my 'loved one.' I should not like him any better if he deared and darlinged me. I think I should despise him. I know some people must be demonstrative. Letty Bishop kisses her father about sixteen times in the course of an evening. I suppose she likes it, but it always
