"How old are you, anyway?" she asked, squinting at him. There was a pause. At last he said, "Why do you want to know?" "I just wondered," said Winnie. "All right. I'm one hundred and four years old," he told her solemnly. "No, I mean really," she persisted. "Well then," he said, "if you must know, I'm seventeen." "Seventeen?" "That's right." "Oh," said Winnie hopelessly. "Seventeen. That's old." "You have no idea," he agreed with a nod. Winnie had the feeling he was laughing at her, but decided it was a nice kind of laughing. "Are you married?" she asked next. This time he laughed out loud. "No, I'm not married. Are you?" Now it was Winnie's turn to laugh. "Of course not," she said. "I'm only ten. But I'll be eleven pretty soon." "And you'll get married," he suggested. Winnie laughed again, her head on one side, admiring him."