She was growing an altogether bewitching bit of femininity, and I kept thanking my private Providence that I had had the nerve to kidnap her first and take chances on her being willing.

Honest, I don't believe I'd ever have got her in any other way.
When we stopped at Pochette's door the girls ran up and tangled their arms around each other and wasted enough kisses to make Frosty and me swear.
And they whispered things, and then laughed about it, and whispered some more, and all we could hear was a gurgle of "You dear!" and the like of that.

Frosty and I didn't do much; we just looked at each other and grinned.

And it's long odds we understood each other quite as well as the girls did after they'd whispered and gurgled an hour.
We had an early dinner--or supper--and ate fried bacon and stewed prunes--and right there I couldn't keep the joke, but had to tell the girls about how Frosty and I had deviled Beryl's father, that time.

They could see the point, all right, and they seemed to appreciate it, too.
After that, we all talked at once, sometimes; and sometimes we wouldn't have a thing to say--times when the girls would look at each other and smile, with their eyes all shiny.