"Sylvia, my dear child!" I said, gravely, sitting down beside her.
"How old are you?"

"I am of the proper age to manage my own affairs," said Sylvia, "with
the assistance of my immediate family."

"Well, I don't think you are," I replied. "And since your brother is
at West Point, there is one thing that I am going to take the liberty
of telling you, which the other members of your family may not fully
understand. If you were younger, Sylvia, you might do a good deal of
this and not be hurt by it; or you might not be hurt by it if you were
a good deal older; but at your age it is terrible; in time it will
affect your character."

"How old must I be?" said Sylvia, wickedly.

"Well, in your case," I replied, warmly, a little nettled by her tone,
"you'd better abstain altogether."

"And in your case?" said Sylvia.

"You never mind my case!" I retorted.

"But I do mind it when I suffer by it," said Sylvia. "I do mind it if
it's going to affect my character!"

"You know very well, Sylvia," I replied, "that I never kissed you but
three times, and then as a brother."