His manner was deferential, even eager. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. And so she came upon the word Love. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. And now I break the seals—for you. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner.
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